Elizabeth 


HAXEB. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 


Franklin  P.  Nutting 


^/ 


THE    BEST 


ELIZABETHAN    PLAYS 


THE  JEW  OF  MALTA,  by  Marlowe ; 

THE  ALCHEMIST,  by  Jonson ; 

PH/LASTER,  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher ; 

THE  TM-^V  NOBLE  KINSMEN, 

by  Fletcher  and  Shakespeare  i 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI,  by  Webster, 


EDITED    BY 


WILLIAM    ROSCOE   THAYER, 

Author  of  "  The -Confessions  of  Hermes,  and  other  Poems";   "  Hespbr: 
An  American  Drama,"  Etc. 


3>«<C 


BOSTON,   U.S.A.: 

GINN   &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 

1895. 


"^^^LIAM  ROSCOE  THAYER 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  r 

^mn  of  Congress.,  at  Washington. 

All  Rights  Reservei  , 


/(y..  <?/^^^ 


Typography  by  J.  s. 


CUSHII 


I'ressv 


'"ON,  U.S.A. 


&  Company,  Boston,  U.S. 


GIFT 


7/7 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Preface      3 

Bibliography 20 

The  Jew  of  Malta  .        .        . 21 

The  Alchemist .  113 

Philaster 261 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen 363 

The  Duchess  of  Malfi 489 


624 


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PREFACE 


MY  object  in  this  volume  is  to  present  specimens  of  the 
best  work  of  the  five  EUzabethan  dramatists  who 
stand  highest  among  Shakespeare's  contemporaries.  Col- 
lections of  separate  scenes  and  special  editions  of  single 
plays  have  frequently  been  made,  and  they  have  their  value  ; 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  binding  together  the  master- 
pieces which  follow,  I  should  enable  not  only  the  general 
reader  but  also  the  college  student  to  taste  the  quahty  of 
Shakespeare's  rivals,  and  thereby  to  esteem  the  more  ade- 
quately Shakespeare  himself  Few  persons  possess  the  fif- 
teen or  twenty  large  volumes  in  which  the  Elizabethan 
drama  is  published,  and  fewer  still  have  the  time  or  the 
patience  to  plod  through  many  tedious  or  dirty  pages  in 
order  to  come  upon  the  treasures  they  contain.  For,  just 
as  a  traveller  in  an  Oriental  city  is  often  obliged  to  turn  his 
eyes  from  some  mosque  or  graceful  minaret  to  the  ground 
beneath  his  feet  so  as  to  avoid  ordure  and  garbage,  so  the 
reader  of  the  Elizabethan  plays  has  his  attention  often  dis- 
tracted, and  his  sense  of  decency  shocked  by  the  vulgarity 
of  many  passages  in  them.  This  coarseness  was  due  in  part 
to  the  habit  of  the  time,  when  men  spoke  openly  to  each 
other  and  even  to  women  on  subjects  about  which  we  are, 
if  not  ignorant,  at  least  reticent,  and  in  part  to  the  deliber- 
ate effort  of  the  playwright  to  please  the  vulgarest  persons 
in  the  audience.     But  as  filth  is  always  filth,  though  it  be 

3 


4  PREFACE. 

thrust  upon  us  in  a  work  of  art,  or  come  to  us  along  with 
much  that  is  noble  under  the  sanction  of  a  great  name,  and 
as  each  age  has  more  than  enough  of  its  own  obscenity  to 
flounder  free  from,  without  falling  back  into  the  sty  of  a  former 
generation,  I  have  selected  plays  as  little  as  possible  tainted. 
Moreover,  I  have  not  scrupled  to  strike  out  phrases  or  lines 
where  it  seemed  proper,  being  guided  by  decency  and  not 
by  prudery ;  yet  it  will  not  be  found  that  this  purging  inter- 
feres in  the  least  in  the  understanding  of  the  following 
dramas,  —  a  sufficient  evidence,  if  evidence  be  needed,  of 
the  unnecessariness  of  obscenity  from  the  artistic  as  from 
the  ethical  standpoint. 

In  making  my  selection  I  had  less  difficulty  than  might 
have  been  expected.  Of  Marlowe's  four  chief  works,  Tam- 
burlaine  is  too  crude  and  tedious,  in  spite  of  several  fine 
passages ;  Doctor  Faustus,  though  admirable  in  outline,  lacks 
interest  in  detail,  and  is,  besides,  permanently  superseded  by 
the  mighty  work  of  Goethe  ;  finally,  Edward  II,  though  its 
scenes  are  knitted  together  more  closely  than  those  of  its 
predecessors,  and  though  its  murder-scene  is  indeed  masterly, 
yet  as  a  whole  lacks  vivid  characters.  So  I  have  chosen 
The  Jew  of  Malta,  which  exhibits  Marlowe's  great  qualities 
and  their  defects,  and  which  will  always  be  interesting  from 
the  comparisons  to  be  made  between  Barabas  and  Shylock. 

Among  Ben  Jonson's  plays  two  have  ranked,  and  de- 
servedly ranked,  foremost,  —  Volpone  and  The  Alchemist. 
The  former  seems  to  me  to  be  the  superior,  but  its  ineradi- 
cable coarseness  precluded  its  publication  in  this  volume ; 
whereas  The  Alchemist  is  both  an  admirable  example  of 
Jonson's  skill  in  applying  the  rules  of  classic  composition  to 
an  English  subject,  and  a  fair  representative  of  his  satire  and 
erudition.     It  is,  furthermore,  a  mirror  in  which  are  reflected 


PREFACE.  5 

with  wonderful  accuracy,  the  social,  scientific,  religious,  and 
philosophical  quacks  of  the  time  of  James  the  First. 

Fifty-two  plays  are  printed  in  the  complete  edition  of  the 
works  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  —  many  of  them  being 
wholly  Fletcher's;  but  only  three  of  those  which  I  have 
read  come  within  my  scope.  These  are  The  Maid^s  Tragedy, 
Valentinian,  and  Philaster :  the  first  two  contain  passages 
equal  to  the  best  their  authors  ever  wrote,  but  they  are  be- 
smirched with  so  much  coarseness,  and  brutality  is  so  hope- 
lessly interwoven  in  their  plots,  that  I  was  forced  to  reject 
them  ;  Philaster  shows  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  at  their  best, 
and  is  thoroughly  characteristic  of  their  genius. 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  commonly  attributed  to 
Fletcher  and  Shakespeare,  is  surely  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful plays  of  that  period,  and  deserves  from  the  public  such 
admiration  and  popularity  as  it  has  long  enjoyed  from  schol- 
ars. Its  right  to  be  published  among  Shakespeare's  works 
is  certainly  equal  to  that  of  Heniy  VIII,  and  superior  to 
that  of  some  of  the  poorer  plays  which  have  few  marks  of 
his  collaboration. 

Webster  left  two  masterpieces,  —  The  White  Devil  and 
The  Duchess  of  Malfi ;  both  are  great,  but  the  latter  excels, 
and  is  not  only  the  most  original  and  imaginative  drama  in 
this  volume,  but  superior  to  every  other  Elizabethan  tragedy 
except  Shakespeare's  best. 

In  some  measure,  therefore,  the  reader  can  form  from 
these  five  plays  —  supplemented,  of  course,  by  acquaint- 
ance with  Shakespeare  —  some  idea  of  the  methods  and 
range  of  the  amazing  dramatic  inspiration  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth  and  the  first  James,  —  unsurpassed  in  the  history 
of  literature,  and  equalled  only  once,  in  Greece.  The  domi- 
nant influence  was  that  of  the  Renaissance,  transmitted  to 


6  PREFACE. 

England  by  way  of  France,  and  modified  by  an  intensely 
English  patriotism,  —  the  Renaissance,  when  classical  learn- 
ing revived,  when  great  discoveries  in  geography  opened 
new  lands  and  peoples  to  the  view  of  Europe ;  when  a 
bolder  commerce  brought  not  only  richer  merchandise,  but 
strange  and  fascinating  lore,  from  the  races  of  the  Orient ; 
when  the  sway  of  a  single  religion  was  broken,  and  through- 
out Christendom  men  ordered  their  lives  by  new  beliefs; 
when  science,  assisted  by  experiment  and  criticism,  began 
its  conquest  of  nature ;  when  the  legends  of  chivalry,  and 
the  traditions  of  the  crusades,  and  mediaeval  myths  and  su- 
perstitions, were  still  so  fresh  as  to  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tions while  they  no  longer  distorted  the  convictions  of  poets. 
It  was  the  age  when  romance  seemed  real,  and  when  the 
revelations  of  science  seemed  romantic.  Curiosity,  insati- 
able and  enthusiastic,  scrutinized  all  things.  The  divorce 
between  passion  and  action,  between  the  scholar  and  the 
man  of  affairs,  had  not  yet  been  proclaimed  :  many-sided 
men  were  common,  —  philosophers  were  courtiers  and  dip- 
lomats ;  soldiers  were  poets.  Intense  individualism  produced 
extreme  types  of  character,  prodigies  of  virtue  or  monsters 
of  wickedness.  PoHtical  conditions,  the  strife  of  noble  with 
noble  and  of  king  with  king,  the  dangers  and  excitements 
of  foreign  voyages,  awakened  qualities  and  passions  which 
in  quieter  times  He  dormant.  It  was  as  if  mankind  con- 
spired to  place  the  whole  circle  of  its  capacities  on  exhibi- 
tion. To  the  great  stimulus  of  the  recovered  appreciation 
of  classical  antiquity  was  added  the  impulsion  of  that  mod- 
ern spirit,  which  mysteriously  and  almost  imperceptibly  was 
remoulding  society.  And  just  as  Bacon  took  all  knowledge 
for  his  province,  so  the  great  poets  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth 
took  all  human  nature  for  theirs.      Literary  precedents  and 


PREFACE.  7 

the  conventional  rules  prescribed  by  writers  of  rhetorics  and 
grammars  did  not  hamper  them.  They  were  too  busy  en- 
deavoring to  portray  the  mighty  pageant  sweeping  before 
them,  to  rummage  old  attics  for  the  musty  colors  and  warped 
palettes  of  by-gone  painters. 

Taking  the  implements  at  hand,  —  the  tedious  moralities 
and  the  loosely  spun  miracle  plays,  —  they  soon  improved 
upon  them,  soon  invented  a  drama-form  not  so  rigid  as  to 
be  cramped,  nor  so  loose  as  to  be  redundant,  but  articulate 
like  a  highly  developed  organism,  and  as  elastic  as  the  vari- 
ous material  furnished  by  nature  required.  And  for  their 
metre  they  adopted  and  perfected  a  line  susceptible  of  al- 
most infinite  modulations,  suited  alike  to  the  simplest  nar- 
ration, and  to  the  highest  outbursts  of  passion,  and  to  the 
most  dehcate  whisperings  of  fancy.  In  their  hands,  blank 
verse  became  the  peer  of  the  Homeric  hexameter,  and  of 
Dante's  terza  rima,  —  a  metre  superior  to  that  which  any 
other  modern  language  offers  to  its  dramatic  writers. 

To  Christopher  Marlowe  is  due  the  honor  of  having  first 
shown  the  capacity  of  this  "  mighty  fine."  We  know  but 
Httle  about  his  life.  He  was  born  at  Canterbury,  and  chris- 
tened there  on  Feb.  26,  1564,  almost  exactly  two  months 
before  the  date  of  Shakespeare's  birth.  He  attended  the 
King's  School  in  his  native  place,  and,  in  March,  1581, 
matriculated  at  Benet  (now  Corpus  Christi)  College,  Cam- 
bridge, where  he  took  a  bachelor's  degree  two  years  later. 
In  1588  Tamburlaine  was  acted,  and  llie  Tragical  History 
of  Doctor  Faustus  appeared  a  little  later.  Then  followed 
The  Jew  of  Malta  and  Edward  II.  These,  and  The  Mas- 
sacre of  Paris,  Dido  (in  which  he  was  assisted  by  Nash), 
some  journeyman  work  on  the  three  parts  of  Henry  VI , 
and  a  fragmentary   poem    entitled  Hero   and  Leander, — ■ 


8  PREFACE. 

comparable  with  Shakespeare's  Venus  and  Adonis,  —  were 
all  that  he  had  time  to  do  before  he  was  killed  in  a  quarrel 
over  a  courtesan,  at  Deptford,  June  i,  1593.  It  is  common, 
while  deploring  his  early  death,  to  speculate  whether  he 
might  not,  had  he  lived  to  maturity,  have  equalled  Shake- 
speare himself;  but  such  speculation  seems  to  me  to  betray 
the  uncritical  temperament  of  those  who  indulge  in  it.  We 
cannot  reasonably  doubt  but  that  Marlowe,  at  forty,  would 
have  produced  works  far  superior  to  any  he  has  left :  he  had 
great  powers,  and  they  were  surely  ripening,  but  there  is  no 
indication  that  he  could  ever  have  excelled  in  two  very  im- 
portant fields,  where  Shakespeare  is  supreme,  —  in  humor 
and  in  fancy.  Humor  is  inborn,  and  shows  itself  early, — 
yet  there  are  not  among  Marlowe's  creations  any  germs  of 
such  characters  as  Falstaff  or  Mercutio ;  fancy,  again,  is 
preeminently  a  young  poet's  gift,  yet  Marlowe's  lack  of  it  is 
almost  as  surprising  as  are  the  ease  and  confidence  with 
which  he  step^  upon  the  stage  for  the  first  time.  There  is  no 
bashfulness,  no  imitation,  but  the  air  of  one  who  feels  sure  of 
his  powers.  He  was  full  of  vitality,  intoxicated  at  beholding 
the  mighty  forces  which  uphold  and  perpetuate  the  universe  ; 
and  he  seems  to  have  believed  that  man,  let  him  but  culti- 
vate his  titanic  possibiHties,  may  master  those  forces,  and 
cease  to  be  their  puppet.  So  his  heroes  are  marvels  of 
energy,  devoting  themselves  to  the  acquisition  of  power 
which  shall  place  them  above  the  limitations  of  human  na- 
ture :  with  Tamburlaine,  it  is  desire  of  empire,  —  the  whole 
world  shall  be  his  slave ;  with  Faustus,  it  is  desire  of  knowl- 
edge and  pleasure,  —  the  mysteries  of  fate  shall  be  revealed 
to  him,  and  all  delights  shall  be  concentrated  in  a  cup  for 
him  to  quaff;  with  Barabas,  it  is  desire  of  gold,  —  he  will 
have  the  means  of  exterminating  all  Malta  to  satisfy  his  ven- 


PREFACE.  9 

geance.  Even  Edward  II,  who  seems  an  exception,  illustrates 
the  power  of  weakness,  —  if  I  may  use  an  apparent  paradox. 
For  the  most  part,  therefore,  the  personages  of  Marlowe's 
dramas  are  types  of  amazing  passions,  rather  than  sharply 
defined  individuals  :  he  did  not  attain  the  supreme  excel- 
lence of  dramatic  characterization  in  which  the  type  lives 
in  the  individual,  as,  for  example,  in  Shylock.  Vigor  and 
exuberance,  —  those  are  the  qualities  which  distinguish 
Marlowe's  thought;  and  in  his  rhythm  we  meet  lines  and 
passages,  now  informed  by  an  imperial  stateliness,  now  by  a 
subtle  unforgetable  melody,  to  find  parallels  for  which  we 
must  turn  to  Shakespeare  himself 

Of  very  different  mettle  was  Ben  Jonson,  the  posthumous 
son  of  a  clergyman,  born  at  Westminster  in  1574,  and  edu- 
cated there  at  the  famous  school,  then  under  Camden's 
direction.  But  the  widow  Jonson  married  a  bricklayer,  and 
young  Ben  was  forced  for  a  time  to  work  at  his  step- father's 
trade.  When  he  could  endure  this  no  longer,  he  ran  away, 
joined  a  regiment  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  after  a  brief 
military  service,  turned  up  in  London,  where  his  first 
comedy.  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,  was  produced  in  1596. 
Then  followed,  in  1599,  1600,  and  1601,  Every  Maft  out  of 
his  Humour,  Cynthia's  Revels,  and  The  Poetaster,  comedies 
in  which  he  satirized  the  foibles  of  the  day,  —  and  as, 
among  other  affectations,  he  laughed  at  the  new  romantic 
fashion  of  writing  plays,  he  was  in  turn  ridiculed  by  Dekker 
and  Marston  in  Satiromastix.  Yet,  while  they  laughed  at 
him,  no  man  was  so  great  a  favorite  as  he  among  that  illus- 
trious group  of  playwrights  and  poets  which  used  to  meet 
and  carouse  at  the  Mermaid ;  and  although,  in  spite  of  his 
protests,  the  Elizabethan  drama  steadily  progressed  along 
romantic  lines,  no  plays  were  more  popular  than  his.     In 


lO  PREFACE. 

1603  he  wrote  Sejanus,  a  tragedy;  in  1605,  Volpone ;  in 
1609,  The  Silent  Woman;  in  16 10,  The  Alchemist ;  in  161 1, 
another  tragedy,  Catiline.  Eastward  Ho,  in  which  he  had 
Chapman  and  Marston  for  collaborators,  proved  too  strong 
a  satire  on  the  Scottish  people  for  the  taste  of  the  Scotch- 
born  James  I,  and  its  authors  were  imprisoned,  only  to  be 
restored  to  liberty  and  favor  a  little  while  afterward.  In 
1 6 19  Jonson  was  appointed  Poet  Laureate,  with  the  usual 
perquisite  of  ;^ioo,  and  a  butt  of  canary  from  the  royal 
cellars,  every  year.  In  his  old  age  he  published  The  Sad 
Shepherd,  and,  having  outlived  all  his  great  companions,  he 
died  Aug.  16,  1637.  In  erudition,  he  was  reputed  the 
most  learned  poet  of  his  time,  and  it  is  even  asserted  that 
no  other  Enghsh  poet  except  Milton  has  had  a  wider  and 
more  various  knowledge  than  he.  His  models  in  the  drama 
were  the  classic  playwrights  of  Rome  and  Athens.  Con- 
demning the  romantic  principles  of  his  contemporaries, 
which  led  to  excess  and  a  luxuriant  confusion,  he  insisted  on 
a  rigid  observance  of  the  three  unities,  of  time,  place,  and 
subject.  His  own  plays,  constructed  in  obedience  to  the 
Aristotelian  methods,  are  marvels  of  ingenuity.  No  other 
English  plots  are  more  homogeneous  and  skilful;  in  none  is 
there  so  little  superfluity,  so  few  digressions.  In  scene  after 
scene  you  behold  the  author  compressing  a  spring,  till  its 
tension  is  ready  for  the  final,  sudden  discharge  ;  yet  he  does 
this  so  adroitly,  that  your  interest  is  excited  from  moment  to 
moment,  lest  that  discharge  burst  upon  you  unawares.  In 
this  respect  he  is  the  true  descendant  of  the  classic  drama- 
tists, and  the  kinsman  of  the  Frenchmen  who,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  created  the  French  drama  on  classic  models. 
Unlike  Marlowe,  who  sketches  his  plot  but  vaguely,  and 
wanders  whithersoever  his  love   of  splendor  points,  Jonson 


PREFACE.  n 

has  drawn  every  detail  before  sitting  down  to  write.  His 
material  is  the  humors  —  or,  as  we  should  now  say,  the 
moods  —  of  mankind,  rather  than  their  elemental  passions  ; 
he  produces  his  effects  by  cumulation  and  repetition,  rather 
than  by  the  swift,  single,  perfect  strokes  of  a  Shakespeare 
or  a  Webster.  In  The  Alchemist  this  is  well  illustrated  :  he 
proposes  to  expose  a  popular  imposture ;  to  do  this  he  in- 
troduces two  varieties  of  the  same  species  of  quacks,  and 
their  female  accomplice ;  and  then  he  marshals  before  us, 
not  one  or  two  gulls,  but  a  whole  flock  of  them,  —  an  epi- 
cure, a  bragging  young  gentleman  from  the  country,  a  sanc- 
timonious Puritan,  a  simpleton  of  a  clerk,  a  conceited 
tobacconist,  —  and  we  see  how  the  same  greed  for  unearned 
wealth  affects  each  differently,  yet  drives  all  into  a  commu- 
nion of  dupery.  So  clever  a  weaving  of  various  threads  in 
one  compact  web  has  rarely  been  achieved ;  Jonson  leaves 
no  seams  and  no  thrums  in  his  work.  He  had  not  the  high- 
est imagination  :  but  he  had  its  best  substitutes,  —  judgment, 
taste,  sense  of  form,  and  culture. 

As  he  is  pre-eminently  classic,  so  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
are  pre-eminently  romantic.  Most  of  the  Elizabethan  dra- 
matists sprang  from  lowly  families  :  not  so  Francis  Beau- 
mont, who  came  of  noble  stock.  His  father.  Sir  John 
Beaumont,  was  a  Justice  of  the  Common  Pleas  in  Leicester- 
shire, where  Francis  was  born  in  1586.  At  the  age  of  eleven 
he  was  admitted  a  gentleman  commoner  at  Broadgate-hall 
(now  Pembroke)  College,  Oxford.  Going  to  London,  he 
read  law  in  the  Inner  Temple,  but  soon  was  drawn  towards 
the  stage.  He  formed  a  hterary  partnership  with  John 
Fletcher,  and  had  already  become  renowned,  when  he  was 
cut  off  by  death  in  1615.  Fletcher,  whose  father  was  Dean 
of  Peterborough,  and  then  Bishop  of  Worcester,  was  born 


1 2  PREFACE. 

at  Rye,  in  Sussex,  in  December,  1579.  We  know  little 
about  him,  except  that  he  was  educated  at  Benet  College, 
Cambridge,  went  to  London  eariy,  devoted  himself  to  play- 
writing,  died  of  the  plague  in  1625,  and  was  buried  at  St. 
Saviour's,  Southwark.  An  old  tradition  has  it  that  Beaumont 
supplied  judgment,  and  Fletcher  fancy,  to  their  joint  produc- 
tions. Owing  to  the  early  death  of  the  former,  it  is  easy  to 
separate  those  plays  which  they  wrote  together  from  those 
which  Fletcher  wrote  alone,  and  by  this  process  the  reader 
who  is  curious  can  determine  more  or  less  accurately  which 
parts  should  be  assigned  to  Beaumont,  and  which  to  Fletcher, 
in  their  united  works.  That  eminent  critics,  despite  this 
clue,  should  have  hitherto  failed  to  agree,  seems  to  indicate 
that  no  ultimate  certainty  can  be  reached,  and  that  therefore 
opinions  which  have  only  probabihty  for  their  basis  ought 
not  to  be  too  vehemently  attacked  or  defended.  Be  the 
division  what  it  may,  the  quality  which  prevails  in  their 
dramas  is  the  quahty  of  romance.  Their  best  heroes  are 
earlier  Hemanis,  bred  in  the  ideals  of  Castilian  honor ; 
even  their  villains  —  and  monstrous  villains  some  of  them 
are  —  utter  very  noble  sentiments.  You  feel  that  such  per- 
sons never  existed,  and  yet  you  know  the  thoughts  to  be  true, 
and  you  cannot  resist  the  fascination,  the  glamour  —  if  you 
will  —  of  ideals  borrowed  from  the  age  of  chivalry.  There 
is,  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  "  a  constant  recognition  of 
gentility,"  as  Emerson  has  remarked ;  this,  and  their  pic- 
turesque descriptions,  their  genuine  sentiment,  and  their 
occasional  flashes  of  imagination  revealing  intense  passion, 
constitute  their  chief  merits,  and  interfuse  through  their 
dramas  the  spirit  of  romance  I  have  noted.  To  be  de- 
lightfully unnatural  is  their  privilege  at  their  best ;  they 
approach  the  actual  human  nature  of  their  time  only  on  its 


PREFACF  13 

most  depraved  side,  and  are   abominably  coarse  at    their 
worst. 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  has  furnished  critics  with  a  mul- 
titude of  pleasant  difficulties.  Even  a  novice^  in  reading  the 
play  for  the  first  time,  must  detect  the  impression  of  two 
different  minds  upon  it ;  and,  since  it  was  believed  that  those 
two  were  Shakespeare  and  Fletcher,  every  resource  of  criti- 
cism has  been  employed  to  determine  the  share  of  each. 
The  tests  appRed  have  been  intellectual  and  metrical :  Has 
a  given  scene  those  imaginative  qualities  peculiar  to  Shake- 
speare ?  Has  its  versification  his  familiar  style  ?  The  latter 
test  is  perhaps  the  more  helpful ;  for  Fletcher  adopted, 
whether  from  preference  or  carelessness,  a  form  of  blank 
verse  by  which  he  can  usually  be  recognized.  More  fre- 
quently than  any  of  his  contemporaries,  he  writes  lines  with 
a  double  ending.  Again,  Shakespeare  employs  "  run-on 
Hues  "  —  those  whose  meaning  does  not  stop  at  the  end  of  a 
verse  —  much  more  freely  than  Fletcher.  The  construction 
of  the  play  gives  further  hints.  Besides  the  main  story  of 
the  two  Kinsmen,  there  is  the  subordinate  story  of  the  gaol- 
er's daughter.  Her  mad-scenes,  drawn  without  pathos  or 
much  skill,  are  evidently  copied  from  Ophelia's.  Indeed, 
the  style  of  the  prose  passages,  and  the  commonplaceness 
of  the  secondary  characters,  afford  other  clues  as  to  their 
authorship.  Nevertheless,  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  all 
the  inferior  work  is  Fletcher's ;  one  of  the  finest  scenes  in 
the  play  —  the  dialogue  of  Palamon  and  Arcite  in  prison  — 
was  almost  certainly  written  by  him.  Concerning  the  date 
of  its  composition,  we  have  only  vague  suggestions.  It  must 
have  come  between  1603  or  1604,  —  the  latest  date  assigned 
to  Hamlet,  and  16 13,  when  Shakespeare  retired  to  Stratford. 
As  Fletcher's  talents  began  to  be  renowned  only  about  1607, 


14  PREFACE. 

and  as  he  worked  with  Shakespeare  on  Henry  VIII  after 
that  time,  we  may  probably  assign  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen 
to  the  period  between  i6c?8  and  1612.  It  may  well  be,  as 
Mr.  Skeat  suggests,  that  the  play  in  its  present  form  was 
revised  by  Fletcher,  and  even  that  parts  of  Shakespeare's 
share  were  altered  by  him  after  Shakespeare's  death.  As  I 
have  given  in  the  notes  the  opinions  of  the  critics  most  com- 
petent to  decide  the  question  of  authorship,  I  need  not  pur- 
sue the  matter  here,  and  will  only  add  that  The  Two  Noble 
Kinsmen  deserves  to  be  known  and  admired  because  it  is, 
first  of  all,  a  fine  drama ;  that  it  happens  to  be  a  first-rate 
puzzle  in  literary  criticism,  is  a  minor  reason  for  its  repub- 
lication. 

Of  John  Webster's  personal  history  we  can  learn  nothing. 
A  few  entries  in  Henslowe's  Diai-y,  of  payments  made  to 
Webster  for  theatrical  properties,  a  few  dates  of  the  per- 
formances of  his  plays  —  and  "  the  rest  is  silence.''  The 
first  mention  of  him  is  in  1601,  as  the  author  of  The  Guise, 
or  the  Massacre  of  France,  which  may  have  been,  as  Dyce 
suggests,  only  a  rifacimento  of  Marlowe's  piece ;  together , 
with  Dekker,  he  wrote  Westward  Ho  and  Northward  Ho, 
published  in  1607  ;  The  White  Devil  was  printed  in  161 2  ; 
The  Duchess  of  Malfiixi  1623  (but  performed  earher)  ;  long 
afterwards,  in  1654,  Appius  and  Virginia  issued  from  the. 
press.  On  one  title-page  Webster  is  styled  "  merchant- 
tailor,"  and  there  are  commendatory  epigraphs  by  Middle- 
ton,  Rowley,  and  Ford.  All  that  we  know  of  his  character 
we  glean  from  two  or  three  short  addresses  to  the  reader, 
and  from  two  dedications  :  these  show  him  to  have  been 
conscious  of  his  own  powers,  yet  modest;  not  without  a 
dignified  contempt  of  the  opinions  of  the  majority  of  play- 
goers, who,  he  says,  "  resemble  those  ignorant  asses,  who, 


PREFACE.  15 

visiting  stationers'  shops,  their  use  is  not  to  inquire  for  good 
books,  but  new  books."  "To  those  who  report  I  was  a 
long  time  finishing  this  tragedy,"  he  continues,  in  the  preface 
to  The  White  Devil,  "  I  confess,  I  do  not  write  with  a  goose 
quill  winged  with  two  feathers ;  and  if  they  will  needs  make 
it  my  fault,  I  must  answer  them  with  that  of  Euripides  to 
Alcestides,  a  tragic  writer.  Alcestides  objecting  that  Eurip- 
ides had  only,  in  three  days,  composed  three  verses,  whereas 
himself  had  written  three  hundred,  'Thou  tellest  truth,' 
quoth  he,  '  but  here's  the  difference,  —  thine  shall  only  be 
read  for  three  days,  whereas  mine  shall  continue  three  ages.* 
Detraction  is  the  sworn  friend  to  ignorance  :  for  mine  own 
part,  I  have  ever  truly  cherished  my  good  opinion  of  other 
men's  worthy  labors  ;  especially  of  that  full  and  heightened 
style  of  Master  Chapman;  the  labored  and  understanding 
works  of  Master  Jonson ;  the  no  less  worthy  composures  of 
the  both  worthily  excellent  Master  Beaumont  and  Master 
Fletcher;  and  lastly  (without  wrong,  last  to  be  named),  the 
right  happy  and  copious  industry  of  Master  Shakespeare, 
Master  Dekker,  and  Master  Heywood ;  wishing  what  I  write 
may  be  read  by  their  light ;  protesting  that,  in  the  strength 
of  mine  own  judgment,  I  know  them  so  worthy,  that  though 
I  rest  silent  in  my  own  work,  yet  to  most  of  theirs  I  dare 
(without  flattery)  fix  that  of  Martial,  Non  norunt  haec  monu- 
menta  moriy  Generous  to  his  fellow-craftsmen,  not  fawning 
to  the  "  groundlings  "  nor  servile  to  his  patrons,  that  is  all 
that,  from  too  scanty  evidence,  we  can  infer  about  Webster, 
the  man  ;  of  the  dramatist,  we  have  at  least  two  works  which 
reveal  his  astonishing  genius.  As  long  as  The  White  Devil 
and  The  Duchess  of  Malfi  are  read,  so  long  will  John  Web- 
ster's title  to  rank  among  the  four  or  five  supreme  tragic 
writers  of  the  world  be  open  to  the  scrutiny  of  all. 


1 6  PREFACE. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  of  some  critics  to  speak  of  Webster 
as  a  strange  and  terrible  genius,  a  sort  of  ogre  who  dehghted 
in  bloody  scenes  by  day,  and  supped  nightly  with  horrors ; 
or  as  a  fellow  of  morbid  imagination,  whose  favorite  haunts 
were  church-yards  and  dark  charnel-houses,  who  gloated 
over  chronicles  of  crime,  and  had  no  other  purpose  in  writ- 
ing, save  that  of  causing  a  vulgar  shudder  to  ripple  over  the 
shoulders  of  his  hearers.  If  these  views  were  correct,  we 
might  dismiss  him  and  his  plays  as  summarily  as  we  dismiss 
the  latest  melodrama  with  its  sheet-iron  thunder  and  pro- 
miscuous slaughters.  But  these  views  are  not  correct,  and 
to  understand  such  a  play  as  The  Duchess  of  Malfi  we  must 
recall  the  state  of  society  throughout  a  large  portion  of  Europe 
during  the  sixteenth  century.  Webster  needed  not  to  appeal 
to  his  imagination  for  materials  so  terrible ;  the  history  of 
almost  any  Italian  city,  in  any  decade  of  that  century,  could 
supply  them.  From  the  court  of  the  Vatican  down  to  that 
of  a  princeling  in  Perugia  or  Mantua,  abominable  vices, 
refined  cruelty,  atrocious  crimes,  were  common :  ties  of 
kindred  were  no  restraint  upon  the  cravings  of  lust  or  of 
ambition  ;  pledges  sealed  by  oath,  promises  bound  by  honor, 
melted  as  the  snow  melts  in  April,  for  there  was  no  sanctity 
in  religion,  no  self-respect  in  men ;  selfishness,  insatiate  and 
unscrupulous,  directed  the  policy  of  states  and  the  actions 
of  individuals.  Personal  courage,  which  gives  to  the  bloody 
deeds  of  a  less  enlightened  time  some  show  of  fairness, 
had  withered ;  this  was  the  age  when  treachery  was  reduced 
to  a  fine  art,  —  when  poison  was  sprinkled  on  a  rose  and 
smeared  on  the  door-latch  or  the  missal,  —  when  the  sword 
was  exchanged  for  the  dagger,  which  never  struck  in  front,  — 
when  reputations  could  be  done  to  death  by  lago-insinua- 
tions  as  surely  as  the  body  by  subtle,  invisible  poisons.    The 


PREFACE. 


17 


glorious  seeds  of  the  Renaissance  had  produced  in  Italy 
this  upas-forest,  covered  with  splendid  but  deadly  blossoms. 
The  current  religion  did  not  supply  moral  leaven  adequate 
to  so  rapid  an  intellectual  growth,  and  there  was  no  senti- 
ment of  nationality  to  counteract  the  tendency  towards  indi- 
vidualism. What  thoughtful  man,  be  he  a  rationalist  or  a 
dogmatist,  can  behold  such  periods  without  amazement,  and 
without  realizing  that  the  problem  of  human  destiny  is  infi- 
nitely complex  and  unspeakably  tragic  ?  And  John  Webster 
sought,  merely  by  presenting  an  episode  typical  of  hundreds, 
— nay,  of  an  epoch,  —  to  show  the  actual  terror  and  tragedy 
of  life,  that  must  be  reckoned  with  by  every  one  who  would 
estimate  its  possibilities  and  its  purpose. 

Unlike  Dante,  his  Duchess  needed  to  be  transported  to 
hell  by  no  vision  :  her  very  surroundings  were  hell,  as  they 
must  have  been  to  any  pure  and  noble  man  or  woman.  In 
the  contrast  between  her  character  and  her  conditions  lies 
the  real  tragedy ;  the  terrific  ordeals  which  test  but  do  not 
overcome  her  fortitude  —  scenes  which  only  Webster  could 
depict  —  are  but  accessory  and  external.  It  may  be  urged, 
indeed,  that  her  sufferings  were  unwarranted,  because  she 
was  innocent :  to  this  it  is  sufficient  to  reply  :  "  Such  is  the 
fact ;  if  only  the  wicked  suffered,  there  would  be  no  prob- 
lem of  evil ;  neither  art  nor  ethics  can  be  true,  if  they  gar- 
ble facts."  And  because  Webster  recognized  this  spiritual 
truth,  he  is  profoundly  moral ;  and  because  he  was  able  to 
embody  it  in  the  concrete,  he  is  among  the  few  supreme 
tragic  poets  of  the  world.  In  his  play,  as  often  happens  in 
real  life,  the  virtuous  seem  to  be  defeated,  the  wicked  to  be 
victorious,  but  the  triumph  and  the  defeat  are  only  appar- 
ent :  virtue  remains  uncontaminated,  —  there  is  its  reward  ; 
sin  remains  unregenerate,  —  there  is  its  punishment.   "  Merely 


.l8  PREFACE.  • 

to  live,"  said  Socrates,  "  is  nothing ;  a  good  life  is  every- 
thing." And  Webster,  after  painting  with  inexorable  fidelity 
and  supreme  power  the  tragic  career  of  his  heroine,  con- 
cludes,— 

"  I  have  ever  thought 
Nature  doth  nothing  so  great  for  great  men 
As  when  she's  pleased  to  make  them  lords  of  truth: 
Integrity  of  life  is  fame's  best  friend, 
Which  nobly,  beyond  death,  shall  crown  the  end." 

It  is  necessary  to  make  this  brief  analysis  in  order  to  pre- 
pare readers  for  a  right  understanding  of  Webster;  they 
will  need  no  guide  to  show  them  his  more  patent  merits. 
His  detached  thoughts,  clear  and  compressed  as  diamonds ; 
his  revelations  of  a  character  in  a  line ;  his  sombre  sub- 
limity; his  naturalness  amid  almost  preternatural  circum- 
stances, —  these  characteristics  of  his  genius  need  no 
elucidation.  He  had  not  Shakespeare's  skill  in  dramatic 
construction ;  nor  Shakespeare's  complete  mastery  of  verse, 
but  he  had,  within  a  narrower  range,  an  imagination  as  pene- 
trating and  as  vivifying  as  Shakespeare's,  and  a  moral  sense 
akin  to  that  which  expresses  itself  in  Macbeth  and  in  Lear. 

From  Marlowe  to  Webster  is  less  than  thirty  years,  less 
than  an  average  lifetime ;  yet  within  that  brief  period  the 
Elizabethan  Drama  blossomed  and  withered.  After  Web- 
ster's, there  is  no  great  name  in  the  Drama.  English  Poetry, 
indeed,  did  not  die,  but  its  subsequent  glories  have  been 
epic,  lyric,  and  descriptive  ;  it  has  become  introspective  and 
personal,  and  has  left  the  more  diffuse  and  less  permanent 
art  of  fiction  to  incarnate  in  objective  creations  the  passions 
and  vicissitudes  of  human  life. 

A  word  should  be  added  concerning  the  rule  which  I 
nave    followed  in  editing  these  five  plays.     I   have    made 


PREFACE.  19 

the  notes  as  brief  as  possible,  keeping  in  mind  that  this 
volume  is  to  be  read  as  literature,  and  not  as  a  text-book  to 
furnish  puzzles  in  antiquarian  difficulties  nor  in  philological 
niceties.  I  have  compared  the  explanations  of  the  best 
editors,  and  adopted  the  best,  supplementing  them  from  my 
own  researches  where  it  seemed  necessary.  I  have  set  the 
notes  at  the  bottom  of  each  page,  rather  than  at  the  end  of 
the  book,  so  that  the  reader  can  see  at  a  glance  whether  the 
information  he  seeks  is  there,  or  not :  those  who,  like  my- 
self, have  often  wasted  time  by  turning  to  the  back  of  a 
volume  only  to  find  that  the  editor  has  passed  over  without 
comment  the  word  they  wished  him  to  explain,  will,  I  trust, 
approve  of  this  arrangement. 


20  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  wish  to  pursue  their  reading  in  the 
Elizabethan  Drama,  the  following  short  bibliography  is  added :  — 

Marlowe.  Edited  by  Dyee,  "  The  Old  Dramatists  " :  new  edit.,  1887. 
Edited  by  Bullen,  1886. 

JONSON.     Complete  works  edited  by  Gilford,  1816;   new  edit.,  i860. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  Edited  by  Darley,  "  The  Old  Dramatists," 
new  edit.,  1883. 

Two  Noble  Kinsmen.  The  edition  by  Littledale  (^New  Shakspere 
Society  publications.  Series  II,  7,  8, 1 5)  is  exhaustive.  For  students, 
Skeat's  edition,  1875,  ^^  ^^^7  convenient;  Rolfe's,  1883,  is  also 
excellent.  See  also  essays  by  Spalding,  Hickson,  Furnivall,  Fleay, 
and  Swinburne. 

Webster,  Edited  by  Dyce,  "  The  Old  Dramatists."  Also  Swinburne's 
admirable  essay,  Nineteenth  Century,  1886,  Vol.  XIX. 

The  chief  works  of  all  these  dramatists  are  also  republished  in  the 
recent  "Mermaid  Series."  Charles  Lamb's  Specimens  of  English 
Dramatic  Poets,  and  Leigh  Hunt's  Selections  from  Beatimont  and 
Fletcher,  are  chosen  with  rare  taste,  and  are  as  satisfactory  as  fragments 
can  ever  be.  The  chapters  in  Taine's  English  Literature  referring  to 
the  Elizabethan  Drama,  may  be  consulted  for  a  foreigner's  opinion, 
although  they  seem  to  me  to  lack  spiritual  insight. 


I. 

THE   JEW   OF   MALTA. 

By  Christopher  Marlowe. 

Probably  written  in  1589  or  1590:  acted  in  1591,  with  Alleyn 
as  Barabas.  Kean  brought  out  an  adaptation  of  the  play  at  the 
Drury-Lane  Theatre  in  18 18.  The  source  of  the  story  has  not 
been  discovered. 


THE   JEW   OF    MALTA. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON JE. 


the 


Ferneze,  Governor  of  Malta. 

LODOVVICK,  his  Son. 

Selim    Calymath,  Son     of 

Grand  Seignior. 
Martin  del  Bosco,  Vice-Admiral 

of  Spain. 
Mathias,  a  Gentleman. 
Barabas,  a  wealthy  Jew. 
Ithamore,  his  Slave. 
Pilia-Borsa,  a  Bully. 

JACOMO.  )p^j^^^^ 

Barnardine,  S 

Scene : 


Two  Merchants. 

Three  Jews. 

Knights,  Bassoes,  Officers,  Guard, 
Messengers,  Slaves,  and  Carpen- 
ters. 

Katharine,  Mother  of  Mathias. 

Abigail,  Daughter  of  Barabas. 

Bellamira,  a  Courtesan. 

Abbess. 

Two  Nuns. 

Machiavel,  Speaker  of  the  Pro- 
logue. 

Malta. 


THE   PROLOGUE. 


Enter  Machiavel. 

Machiavel.  Albeit  the  world  thinks  Machiavel  ^  is  dead, 
Yet  was  his  soul  but  flown  beyond  the  Alps, 
And  now  the  Guise  -  is  dead,  is  come  from  France, 
To  view  this  land,  and  frolic  with  his  friends. 

1  Ma^biavellj,  the  Florentine  statesman,  died  in  1527.    His  name  was 
long-a.synonym  for  political  perfidy  and  co](T-T5Tboded  crtrelty."'  "^ 

2  The  "Duke -of  Guise,  organizer  of  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  in 
1572,  was  assassinated  in  1588. 

23 


24  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [PROLOGUE. 

To  some  perhaps  my  name  is  odious, 

But  such  as  love  me  guard  me  from  their  tongues ; 

And  let  them  know  that  I  am  Machiavel, 

And  weigh  not  men,  and  therefore  not  men's  words. 

Admired  T  am  of  those  that  hate  me  most. 

Though  some  speak  openly  against  my  books,  lo 

Yet  they  will  read  me,  and  thereby  attain 

To  Peter's  chair :  and  when  they  cast  me  off, 

Are  poisoned  by  my  cHmbing  followers. 

I  count  religion  but  a  childish  toy. 

And  hold  there  is  no  sin  but  ignorance. 

Birds  of  the  air  will  tell  of  murders  past ! 

I  am  ashamed  to  hear  such  fooleries. 

Many  will  talk  of  title  to  a  crown  : 

What  right  had  Caesar  to  the  empery? 

Might  first  made  kings,  and  laws  were  then  most  sure  20 

When  like  the  Draco's  they  were  writ  in  blood. 

Hence  comes  it  that  a  strong-built  citadel 

Commands  much  more  than  letters  can  import ; 

Which  maxim  had  but  Phalaris  observed. 

He  had  never  bellowed,  in  a  brazen  bull. 

Of  great  ones'  envy.     Of  the  poor  petty  wights 

Let  me  be  envied  and  not  pitied  ! 

But  whither  am  I  bound  ?     I  come  not,  I, 

To  read  a  lecture  here  in  Britain, 

But  to  present  the  tragedy  of  a  Jew,  30 

Who  smiles  to  see  how  full  his  bags  are  crammed, 

Which  money  was  not  got  without  my  means. 

I  crave  but  this  —  grace  him  as  he  deserves. 

And  let  him  not  be  entertained  the  worse 

Because  he  favours  me.  l£xt/. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  25 


ACT   I. 

Scene  I.  —  Barabas  discovered  in  his  Counting-house ,  with 
Heaps  of  Gold  before  him. 

Bar.  So  that  of  thus  much  that  return  was  made  : 
And  of  the  third  part  of  the  Persian  ships, 
There  was  the  venture  summed  and  satisfied. 
As  for  those  Sabans,  and  the  men  of  Uz, 
That  bought  my  Spanish  oils  and  wines  of  Greece, 
Here  have  I  purst  their  paltry  silverlings.^ 
Fie  ;  what  a  trouble  'tis  to  count  this  trash. 
Well  fare  the  Arabians,  who  so  richly  pay 
The  things  they  traffic  for  with  wedge  of  gold, 
Whereof  a  man  may  easily  in  a  day  10 

Tell  ^  that  which  may  maintain  him  all  his  life. 
The  needy  groom  that  never  fingered  groat, 
Would  make  a  miracle  of  thus  much  coin  : 
But  he  whose  steel-barred  coffers  are  crammed  full, 
And  all  his  lifetime  hath  been  tired. 
Wearying  his  fingers'  ends  with  telling  it. 
Would  in  his  age  be  loth  to  labour  so. 
And  for  a  pound  to  sweat  himself  to  death. 
Give  me  the  merchants  of  the  Indian  mines, 
That  trade  in  metal  of  the  purest  mould ;  20 

The  wealthy  Moor,  that  in  the  eastern  rocks 
Without  control  can  pick  his  riches  up, 
And  in  his  house  heap  pearls  like  pebble-stones. 
Receive  them  free,  and  sell  them  by  the  weight ; 
Bags  of  fiery  opals,  sapphires,  and  amethysts, 

1  Silver  coins  ;  cf.  Isaiah  vii,  23.  '-^  Count. 


26  THE  JEW    OF   MALTA.  [ACT  1. 

Jacinths,  hard  topaz,  grass-green  emeralds, 

Beauteous  rubies,  sparkKng  diamonds, 

And  seld-seen^  costly  stones  of  so  great  price, 

As  one  of  them  indifferently  rated, 

And  of  a  carat  of  this  quantity,  30 

May  serve  in  peril  of  calamity 

To  ransom  great  kings  from  captivity. 

This  is  the  ware  wherein  consists  my  wealth ; 

And  thus  methinks  should  men  of  judgment  frame 

Their  means  of  traffic  from  the  vulgar  trade. 

And  as  their  wealth  increaseth,  so  inclose 

Infinite  riches  in  a  little  room. 

But  now  how  stands  the  wind? 

Into  what  corner  peers  my  halcyon's  bill  ?  ^ 

Ha  !  to  the  east  ?  yes  :  see,  how  stand  the  vanes  ?  40 

East  and  by  south  :  why  then  I  hope  my  ships 

I  sent  for  Egypt  and  the  bordering  isles 

Are  gotten  up  by  Nilus'  winding  banks  : 

Mine  argosies  from  Alexandria, 

Loaden  with  spice  and  silks,  now  under  sail, 

Are  smoothly  gliding  down  by  Candy  shore 

To  Malta,  through  our  Mediterranean  sea. 

But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  a  Merchant. 

How  now  ? 
Merch.  Barabas,  thy  ships  are  safe. 
Riding  in  Malta-road  :  and  all  the  merchants  50 

1  Seldom  seen, 

2  A  stuffed  kingfisher  (the  halcyon),  suspended  by  a  string,  was  sup- 
posed to  show  the  direction  of  the  wind.  Halcyon  days  were  calm  days, 
the  belief  being  that  the  weather  was  always  calm  when  kingfishers  were 
breeding.     Cf.  King  Lear,  ii,  2 ;  Sir  T.  Browne,  Vulgar  Errors,  Hi,  10. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  27 

With  Other  merchandise  are  safe  arrived, 
And  have  sent  me  to  know  whether  yourself 
Will  come  and  custom  ^  them. 

Bar.  The  ships  are  safe  thou  say'st,  and  richly  fraught. 

Merch.  They  are. 

Bar.  Why  then  go  bid  them  come  ashore, 
And  bring  with  them  their  bills  of  entry : 
I  hope  our  credit  in  the  custom-house 
Will  serve  as  well  as  I  were  present  there. 
Go  send  'em  threescore  camels,  thirty  mules. 
And  twenty  waggons  to  bring  up  the  ware.  60 

But  art  thou  master  in  a  ship  of  mine, 
And  is  thy  credit  not  enough  for  that  ? 

Merch.  The  very  custom  barely  comes  to  more 
Than  many  merchants  of  the  town  are  worth, 
And  therefore  far  exceeds  my  credit,  sir. 

Bar.  Go  tell  'em  the  Jew  of  Malta  sent  thee,  man  : 
Tush  !  who  amongst  'em  knows  not  Barabas  ? 

Merch.  I  go. 

Bar.  So  then,  there's  somewhat  come. 
Sirrah,  which  of  my  ships  art  thou  master  of? 

Merch.  Of  the  Speranza,  sir. 

Bar.  And  saw'st  thou  not  70 

Mine  argosy  at  Alexandria? 
Thou  could'st  not  come  from  Egypt,  or  by  Caire, 
But  at  the  entry  there  into  the  sea. 
Where  Nilus  pays  his  tribute  to  the  main. 
Thou  needs  must  sail  by  Alexandria. 

Merch.  I  neither  saw  them,  nor  inquired  of  them  : 
But  this  we  heard  some  of  our  seamen  say. 
They  wondered  how  you  durst  with  so  much  wealth 

1  Pay  the  duty  on  them. 


«8  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  I. 

Trust  such  a  crazed  vessel,  and  so  far. 

Bar,  Tush,  they  are  wise  1  I  know  her  and  her  strength.  80 
B^t  go,  go  thou  thy  ways,  discharge  thy  ship, 
And  bid  my  factor  bring  his  loading  in.  \_Exit  Merch. 

And  yet  I  wonder  at  this  argosy. 

Enter  a  second  Merchant. 

2d  Merch.  Thine  argosy  from  Alexandria, 
Know,  Barabas,  doth  ride  in  Malta-road, 
Laden  with  riches,  and  exceeding  store 
Of  Persian  silks,  of  gold,  and  orient  pearl. 

Bar.  How  chance  you  came  not  with  those  other  ships 
That  sailed  by  Egypt? 

2d  Merch.  Sir,  we  saw  *em  not. 

Bar.  Belike  they  coasted  round  by  Candy  shore  90 

About  their  oils,  or  other  businesses. 
But  'twas  ill  done  of  you  to  come  so  far 
Without  the  aid  or  conduct  of  their  ships. 

2d  Merch.  Sir,  we  were  wafted  by  a  Spanish  fleet, 
That  never  left  us  till  within  a  league, 
That  had  the  galleys  of  the  Turk  in  chase. 

Bar.  O  !  —  they  were  going  up  to  Sicily  :  — 
Well,  go. 

And  bid  the  merchants  and  my  men  despatch 
And  come  ashore,  and  see  the  fraught^  discharged.  100 

2d  Merch.  I  go.  \_ExiL 

Bar.  Thus  trowls  ^  our  fortune  in  by  land  and  sea. 
And  thus  are  we  on  every  side  enriched  : 
These  are  the  blessings  promised  to  the  Jews, 
And  herein  was  old  Abram's  happiness  : 

1  Freight.  2  Rolls. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  29 

What  more  may  heaven  do  for  earthly  man 

Than  thus  to  pour  out  plenty  in  their  laps, 

Ripping  the  bowels  of  the  earth  for  them, 

Making  the  seas  their  servants,  and  the  winds 

To  drive  their  substance  with  successful  blasts?  no 

Who  hateth  me  but  for  my  happiness  ? 

Or  who  is  Tibnoured  now  but  for  his  wealth  ? 

Rather  had  I  a  Jew  be  hated  thus. 

Than  pitied  in  a  Christian  poverty  : 

For  I  can  see  no  fruits  in  all  their  faith, 

But  maHce,  falsehood,  and  excessive  pride, 

Wjiich  methinks  fits  not  their  profession. 

Haply  some  hapless  man  hath  conscience, 

And  for  his  conscience  lives  in  beggary. 

They  say  we  are  a  scattered  nation  :  120 

I  cannot  tell,  but  we  have  scam  bled  ^  up 

More  wealth  by  far  than  those  that  brag  of  faith. 

There's  Kirriah  Jairim,  the  great  Jew  of  Greece, 

Obed  in  Bairseth,^  Nones  in  Portugal, 

Myself  in  Malta,  some  in  Italy, 

Many  in  France,  and  wealthy  every  one ; 

Ay,  wealthier  far  than  any  Christian. 

I  flftust  eonfes&^^e-come  not  to  be  kings  ; 

ThaL'5_nQt_our  Jkult :  alas,  our  number's  few, 

And  crowns  come  either  by  succession,  130 

Or  urged  by  force  ;  and  nothing  violent 

Oft  have  I  heard  tell,  can  be  permanent. 

Give  us  a  peaceful  rule,  make  Christians  kings, 

That  thirst  so  much  for  principality. 

I  have  no  charge,  nor  many  children, 

1  Collected,  used  for  scrambled,  as  in  Henry  V,  i,  i. 

2  Be)n-out  ? 


30  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  I 

But  one  sole  daughter,  whom  I  hold  as  dear 

As  Agamemnon  did  his  Iphigen  : 

And  all  I  have  is  hers.     But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  three  Jews.^ 

jstjew.  Tush,  tell  not  me ;  'twas  done  of  policy. 

2d  Jew.  Come,  therefore,  let  us  go  to  Barabas,  140 

For  he  can  counsel  best  in  these  affairs ; 
And  here  he  comes. 

Bar.  Why,  how  now,  countrymen  ! 
Why  flock  you  thus  to  me  in  multitudes  ? 
What  accident's  betided  to  the  Jews? 

1st  Jew.  A  fleet  of  warlike  galleys,  Barabas, 
Are  come  from  Turkey,  and  lie  in  our  road : 
And  they  this  day  sit  in  the  council-house 
To  entertain  them  and  their  embassy. 

Bar.  Why,  let  'em  come,  so  they  come  not  to  war ; 
Or  let  'em  war,  so  we  be  conquerors —  150 

Nay,  let  'em  combat,  conxjuer,  and  kill  all ! 
{Aside)   So  they  spare  me,  my  daughter,  and  my  wealth. 

1st  Jew.  Were  it  for  confirmation  of  a  league. 
They  would  not  come  in  warlike  manner  thus. 

2d  Jew.  I  fear  their  coming  will  afflict  us  all. 

Bar.  Fond  ^  men  !  what  dream  you  of  their  multitudes? 
What  need  they  treat  of  peace  that  are  in  league  ? 
The  Turks  and  those  of  Malta  are  in  league. 
Tut,  tut,  there  is  some  other  matter  in't. 

1st  Jew.     Why,  Barabas,  they  come  for  peace  or  war.    160 

Bar.  Haply  for  neither,  but  to  pass  along 
Towards  Venice  by  the  Adriatic  Sea ; 

1  Here  the  scene  is  shifted  to  a  street,  or  to  the  Exchange. 

2  Foolish. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW   OF    MALTA.  3 1 

With  whom  they  have  attempted  many  times, 
But  never  could  effect  their  stratagem. 

Sd  Jew.     And  very  wisely  said.     It  may  be  so. 

2d  Jew.  But  there's  a  meeting  in  the  senate-house, 
And  all  the  Jews  in  Malta  must  be  there. 

Bar.  Hum ;  all  the  Jews  in  Malta  must  be  there  ? 
Ay,  like  enough,  why  then  let  every  man 
Provide  him,  and  be  there  for  fashion-sake.  170 

If  -anything  shall  there  concern  our  state, 
Assui:£_yQUr§,e lyes  I'll  \oo)g.  _{aside\  unto  myself. 

istjeiv.  I  know  you  will.     Well,  brethren,  let  us  go. 

2d  Jew.  Let's  take  our  leaves.     Farewell,  good  Barabas. 

Bar.  Farewell,  Zaareth  ;  farewell,  Temainte. 

\Exeunt  Jews. 
And,  Barabas,  now  search  this  secret  out ; 
Summon  thy  senses,  call  thy  wits  together : 
These  silly  men  mistake  the  matter  clean. 
Long  to  the  Turk  did  Malta  contribute ; 
Which  tribute,  all  in  policy  I  fear,  180 

The  Turks  have  let  increase  to  such  a  sum 
As  all  the  wealth  of  Malta  cannot  pay ; 
And  now  by  that^  advantage  thinks  belike 
To  seize  upon  the  towTi :  ay,  that  he  seeks. 
Howe'er  the  world  go,  I'll  make  sure  for  one, 
And  seek  in  time  to  intercept  the  worst, 
Warily  guarding  that  which  I  ha'  got. 
Ego  77iihimet  sum  semper  pro ximus}   -^ 
Why,  let  'em  enter,  let  'em  take  the  town.  \_Exit. 

1  Misquotation  from  Terence,  Andria.  iv,  i,  12,  Proximus  sum  egomet 
tnihi. 


32  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  I. 

Scene  II.  — Inside  the  Council-house, 

Enter  Ferneze,  Governor  of  Malta^  Knights,  and  Officers ; 
met  by  Calymath  and  Bassoes  of  the  Turk. 

Fern.  Now,  Bassoes,^  what  demand  you  at  our  h^nds  ? 

1st  Bas.  Know,  Knights  of  Malta,  that  we    came  from 
Rhodes, 
From  Cyprus,  Candy,  and  those  other  Isles 
That  lie  betwixt  the  Mediterranean  seas. 

Fern.  What's  Cyprus,  Candy,  and  those  other  Isles 
To  us,  or  Malta?     What  at  our  hands  demand  ye? 

Cal.  The  ten  years'  tribute  that  remains  unpaid. 

Fern.  Alas  !  my  lord,  the  sum  is  over-great, 
I  hope  your  highness  will  consider  us. 

Cal.  I  wish,  grave  governor,  'twere  in  my  power  i» 

To  favour  you,  but  'tis  my  father's  cause, 
Wherein  I  may  not,  nay,  I  dare  not  dally. 

Fern.  Then  give  us  leave,  great  Selim  Calymath. 

[  Consults  apart  with  the  Knights. 

Cal.  Stand  all  aside,  and  let  the  knights  determine, 
And  send  to  keep  our  galleys  under  sail. 
For  happily  ^  we  shall  not  tarry  here ; 
Now,  governor,  say,  how  are  you  resolved? 

Fern.  Thus  :  since  your  hard  conditions  are  such 
That  you  will  needs  have  ten  years'  tribute  past, 
We  may  have  time  to  make  collection  to 

Amongst  the  inhabitants  of  Malta  for't. 

1st  Bas.  That's  more  than  is  in  our  commission. 

Cal.  What,  Callipine  !  a  little  courtesy. 
Let's  know  their  time,  perhaps  it  is  not  long ; 

1  Pashas,  formerly  spelt  bashaws.  2  Haply. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW   OF  MALTA.  33 

And  'tis  more  kingly  to  obtain  by  peace 
Than  to  enforce  conditions  by  constraint. 
What  respite  ask  you,  governor? 

Fern.  But  a  month. 

Cat.  We  grant  a  month,  but  see  you  keep  your  promise. 
Now  launch  our  galleys  back  again  to  sea. 
Where  we'll  attend  the  respite  you  have  ta'en,  30 

And  for  the  money  send  our  messenger. 
Farewell,  great  governor  and  brave  Knights  of  Malta. 

Fern.  And  all  good  fortune  wait  on  Calymath  ! 

\_Fxeunf  Calymath  and  Bassoes. 
Go  one  and  call  those  Jews  of  Malta  hither  : 
Were  they  not  summoned  to  appear  to-day? 

Off.  They  were,  my  lord,  and  here  they  come. 

Enter  Barabas  and  three  Jews. 

1st  Knight.  Have  you  determined  what  to  say  to  them? 

Fern.  Yes ;  give  me  leave :  —  and,  Hebrews,  now  come 
near. 
From  the  Emperor  of  Turkey  is  arrived 
Great  Selim  Calymath,  his  highness'  son,  40 

To  levy  of  us  ten  years'  tribute  past ; 
Now  then,  here  know  that  it  concerneth  us  — 

Bar.  Then,  good  my  lord,  to  keep  your  quiet  still. 
Your  lordship  shall  do  well  to  let  them  have  it. 

Fern.  Soft,  Barabas,  there's  more  'longs  to't  than  so. 
To  what  this  ten  years'  tribute  will  amount, 
That  we  have  cast,  but  cannot  compass  it 
By  reason  of  the  wars  that  robbed  our  store ; 
And  therefore  are  we  to  request  your  aid. 

Bar.  Alas,  my  lord,  we  are  no  soldiers  :  50 

And  what's  our  aid  against  so  great  a  prince  ? 


34  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  I. 

ist  Knight.  Tut,  Jew,  we  know  thou  art  no  soldier ; 
Thou  art  a  merchant  and  a  moneyed  man, 
And  'tis  thy  money,  Barabas,  we  seek. 

Bar.  How,  my  lord  !  my  money? 

Fern.  Thine  and  the  rest. 
For,  to  be  short,  amongst  you't  must  be  had. 

ist  Jew.  Alas,  my  lord,  the  most  of  us  are  poor. 

Fern.  Then  let  the  rich  increase  your  portions. 

Bar.  Are  strangers  with  your  tribute  to  be  taxed  ? 

2d  Knight.  Have  strangers   leave  with   us  to   get   their 
wealth  ?  60 

Then  let  them  with  us  contribute. 

Bar.  How  !  equally? 

Fern.  No,  Jew,  like  infidels. 
For  through  our  sufferance  of  your  hateful  lives. 
Who  stand  accursed  in  the  sight  of  Heaven, 
These  taxes  and  afflictions  are  befallen. 
And  therefore  thus  we  are  determined. 
Read  there  the  articles  of  our  decrees. 

Officer  {reads).  "First,  the  tribute-money  of  the  Turks 
shall  all  be  levied  amongst  the  Jews,  and  each  of  them  to 
pay  one  half  of  his  estate."  70 

Bar.  How,  half  his  estate?  (Aside)  I  hope  you  mean 
not  mine. 

Fern.  Read  on. 

Offi.  {reading).  "Secondly,  he  that  denies^  to  pay  shall 
straight  become  a  Christian." 

Bar.  How  !  a  Christian  ?  {Aside)  Hum,  what's  here  to 
do? 

Of.  {reading).  "Lastly,  he  that  denies  this  shall  abso- 
lutely lose  all  he  has." 

1  Refuses. 


SCENE  II.J  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  35 

The  three  Jews.  O  my  lord,  we  will  give  half.  80 

Bar.    O  earth-mettled  villains,  and  no  Hebrews  born  ! 
And  will  you  basely  thus  submit  yourselves 
To  leave  your  goods  to  their  arbitrament  ? 

Fern.  Why,  Barabas,  wilt  thou  be  christened  ? 

Bar.  No,  governor,  I  will  be  no  convertite.^ 

Fern,  Then  pay  thy  half. 

Bar.  Why,  know  you  what  you  did  by  this  device  ? 
Half  of  my  substance  is  a  city's  wealth. 
Governor,  it  was  not  got  so  easily  j 
Nor  will  I  part  so  slightly  therewithal.  90 

Fern.  Sir,  half  is  the  penalty  of  our  decree, 
Either  pay  that,  or  we  will  seize  on  all. 

Bar.   Co7-po  di  Dio  I  stay  !  you  shall  have  the  half; 
Let  me  be  used  but  as  my  brethren  are. 

Fern.  No,  Jew,  thou  hast  denied  the  articles, 
And  now  it  cannot  be  recalled. 

{^Exeunt  Officers,  on  a  sigtifrom  Ferneze. 

Bar.  Will  you  then  steal  my  goods? 
Is  theft  the  ground  of  your  religion  ? 

Fern.  No,  Jew^  we  take  particularly  thine 
To  save  the  ruin  of  a  multitude  :  100 

And  better  one  want  for  the  common  good 
Than  many  perish  for  a  private  man  : 
Yet,  Barabas,  we  will  not  banish  thee. 
But  here  in  Malta,  where  thou  go^t'st  thy  wealth, 
Live  still ;  and,  if  thou  canst,  get  more. 

Ba7'.  Christians,  what  or  how  can  I  multiply? 
Of  naught  is  nothing  made. 

jst  Knight.    From   naught  at  first   thou  cam'st  to  little 
wealth, 

A  Convert ;  so  used  in  As  You  Like  It  and  King  John. 


36  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  I. 

From  little  unto  more,  from  more  to  most : 

If  your  first  curse  fall  heavy  on  thy  head,  no 

And  make  thee  poor  and  scorned  of  all  the  world, 

'Tis  not  our  fault,  but  thy  inherent  sin. 

Bar.  What,  bring  you  Scripture  to  confirm  your  wrongs  ? 
Preach  me  not  out  of  my  possessions. 
Some  Jews  are  wicked,  as  all  Christians  are : 
But  say  the  tribe  that  I  descended  of 
Were  all  in  general  cast  away  from  sin, 
Shall  I  be  tried  by  their  transgression? 
The  man  that  dealeth  righteously  shall  live  : 
And  which  of  you  can  charge  me  otherwise  ?  120 

Fern.  Out,  wretched  Barabas  ! 
Sham'st  thou  not  thus  to  justify  thyself. 
As  if  we  knew  not  thy  profession  ? 
If  thou  rely  upon  thy  righteousness. 
Be  patient  and  thy  riches  will  increase. 
Excess  of  wealth  is  cause  of  covetousness  : 
And  covetousness,  O,  'tis  a  monstrous  sin. 

Bar.   Ay,  but  theft  is  worse  :    tush  !   take  not  from  me 
then, 
For  that  is  theft !  and  if  you  rob  me  thus, 
I  must  be  forced  to  steal  and  compass^  more.  130 

1st  Knight.  Grave  governor,  listen  not  to  his  exclaims. 
Convert  his  mansion  to  a  nunnery ; 
His  house  will  harbour  many  holy  nuns. 

Fern.  It  shall  be  so. 

Re-enter  Officers. 

Now,  officers,  have  you  done  ? 
Off.  Ay,  my  lord,  we  have  seized  upon  the  goods 

1  Cheat. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  37 

And  wares  of  Barabas,  which  being  valued, 
Amount  fo  more  than  all  the  wealth  of  Malta. 
And  of  the  other  we  have  seized  half. 

Fern.  Then  we'll  take  order  for  the  residue. 

Bar.  Well  then,  my  lord,  say,  are  you  satisfied  ?  140 

You  have  my  goods,  my  money,  and  my  wealth, 
My  ships,  my  store,  and  all  that  I  enjoyed ; 
And,  having  all,  you  can  request  no  more ; 
Unless  your  unrelenting  flinty  hearts 
Suppress  all  pity  in  your  stony  breasts. 
And  now  shall  move  you  to  bereave  my  life. 

Fern.  No,  Barabas,  to  stain  our  hands  with  blood 
Is  far  from  us  and  our  profession. 

Bar.  Why,  I  esteem  the  injury  far  less 
To  take  the  lives  of  miserable  men  150 

Than  be  the  causers  of  their  misery. 
You  have  my  wealth,  the  labour  of  my  life. 
The  comfort  of  mine  age,  my  children's  hope, 
And  therefore  ne'er  distinguish  of  the  wrong. 

Fern.  Content  thee,  Barabas,  thou  hast  naught  but  right. 

Bar.  Your  extreme  right  does  me  exceeding  wrong : 
But  take  it  to  you,  i'  the  devil's  name. 

Fern.  Come,  let  us  in,  and  gather  of  these  goods 
The  money  for  this  tribute  of  the  Turk. 

jst  Knight.  'Tis  necessary  that  be  looked  unto  :  i6a 

For  if  we  break  our  day,  we  break  the  league. 
And  that  will  prove  but  simple  ^  policy. 

\_Fxeunt  all  except  Barabas  and  the  Jews. 

Bar.  Ay,  policy  !  that's  their  profession, 
And  not  simplicity,  as  they  suggest. 
The  plagues  of  Egypt,  and  the  curse  of  Heaven, 
1  Foolish. 


^8  THE  JEW    OF  MALTA.  tACT  1, 

Earth's  barrenness,  and  all  men's  hatred 

Inflict  upon  them,  thou  great  Primus  Moto7\' 

And  here  upon  my  knees,  striking  the  earth, 

I  ban  their  souls  to  everlasting  pains 

And  extreme  tortures  of  the  fiery  deep,  170 

That  thus  have  dealt  with  me  in  my  distress. 

1st  Jew.  O  yet  be  patient,  gentle  Barabas. 

Bar.  O  silly  brethren,  born  to  see  this  day ; 
Why  stand  you  thus  unmoved  with  my  laments  ? 
Why  weep  you  not  to  think  upon  my  wrongs  ? 
Why  pine  not  I,  and  die  in  this  distress  ? 

1st  Jew.  Why,  Barabas,  as  hardly  can  we  brook 
The  cruel  handling  of  ourselves  in  this  ; 
Thou  seest  they  have  taken  half  our  goods. 

Bar.  Why  did  you  yield  to  their  extortion?  180 

You  were  a  multitude,  and  I  but  one  : 
And  of  me  only  have  they  taken  all. 

1st  Jew.  Yet,  brother  Barabas,  remember  Job. 

Bar.  What  tell  you  me  of  Job?  I  wot  his  wealth 
Was  written  thus  :  he  had  seven  thousand  sheep. 
Three  thousand  camels,  and  two  hundred  yoke 
Of  labouring  oxen,  and  five  hundred 
She-asses  :  but  for  every  one  of  those. 
Had  they  been  valued  at  indifferent  rate, 
I  had  at  home,  and  in  mine  argosy,  19c. 

And  other  ships  that  came  from  Egypt  last. 
As  much  as  would  have  bought  his  beasts  and  him, 
And  yet  have  kept  enough  to  live  upon : 
So  that  not  he,  but  I  may  curse  the  day, 
Thy  fatal  birth-day,  forlorn  Barabas  ; 
And  henceforth  wish  for  an  eternal  night. 
That  clouds  of  darkness  may  inclose  my  flesh, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW   OF  MALTA.  39 

And  hide  these  extreme  sorrows  from  mine  eyes : 

For  only  I  have  toiled  to  inherit  here 

The  months  of  vanity  and  loss  of  time,  200 

And  painful  nights,  have  been  appointed  me. 

2d  Jew.  Good  Barabas,  be  patient. 

Bar.  Ay,  I  pray,  leave  me  in  my  patience.     You, 
Were  ne'er  possessed  of  wealth,  ar^  pleased  with  want ; 
But  give  him  liberty  at  least  to  mourn, 
That  in  a  field  amidst  his  enemies 
Doth  see  his  soldiers  slain,  himself  disarmed. 
And  knows  no  means  of  his  recovery  : 
Ay,  let  me  sorrow  for  this  sudden  chance ; 
'Tis  in  the  trouble  of  my  spirit  I  speak ;  210 

Great  injuries  are  not  so  soon  forgot. 

1st  Jew.  Come,  let  us  leave  him  ;  in  his  ireful  mood 
Our  words  will  but  increase  his  ecstasy.^ 

2d  Jew.  On,  then ;  but  trust  m.e  'tis  a  misery 
To  see  a  man  in  such  affliction.  — 
Farewell,  Barabas  !  {^Exeunt  the  three  Jews.^ 

Bar.  Ay,  fare  you  well. 
See  the  simplicity  of  these  base  slaves, 
Who,  for  the  villains  have  no  wit  themselves, 
Think  me  to  be  a  senseless  lump  of  clay 
That  will  with  every  water  wash  to  dirt :  220 

No,  Barabas  is  born  to  better  chance, 
And  framed  of  finer  mould  than  common  men. 
That  measure  naught  but  by  the  present  time. 
A  reaching  thought  will  search  his  deepest  wits, 
And  cast  with  cunning  for  the  time  to  come  : 
For  evils  are  apt  to  happen  every  day.  — 

1  Violent  emotion. 

2  Dyce  suggests  that  the  scene  is  now  shifted  to  a  street  near  Barabas' 
house. 


THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  I. 


Enter  Abigail. 

But  whither  wends  my  beauteous  Abigail  ? 

O  !  what  has  made  my  lovely  daughter  sad  ? 

What,  woman  !  moan  not  for  a  little  loss  : 

Thy  father  hath  enough  in  store  for  thee.  '230 

Abig.  Not  for  myself,  but  aged  Barabas  : 
Father,  for  thee  lamenteth  Abigail : 
But  I  will  learn  to  leave  these  fruitless  tears, 
And,  urged  thereto  with  my  afflictions, 
With  fierce  exclaims  run  to  the  senate-house. 
And  in  the  senate  reprehend  them  all. 
And  rend  their  hearts  with  tearing  of  my  hair. 
Till  they  reduce  ^  the  wrongs  done  to  my  father. 

Bar.  No,  Abigail,  things  past  recovery 
Are  hardly  cured  with  exclamations.  240 

Be  silent,  daughter,  sufferance  breeds  ease. 
And  time  may  yield  us  an  occasion 
Which  on  the  sudden  cannot  serve  the  turn. 
Besides,  my  girl,  think  me  not  all  so  fond 
As  negligently  to  forego  so  much 
Without  provisioaibr  thyself  and  me  : 
Fen  thousand  portagues,^  besides  great  pearls. 
Rich  costly  jewels,  and  stones  infinite. 
Fearing  the  worst  of  this  before  it  fell, 
T  closely  hid. 

Abig.  Where,  father? 

Bar.  In  my  house,  my  girl.  250 

Abig.  Then  shall  they  ne'er  be  seen  of  Barabas  : 
For  they  have  seized  upon  thy  house  anH  wares. 

1  Lessen,  diminish.    Dyce  suggests  redress. 

2  Portuguese  gold  coins. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  4 1 

Bar.  But  they  will  give  me  leave  once  more,  I  trow. 
To  go  into  my  house. 

Abig.  That  may  they  not : 
For  there  I  left  the  governor  placing  nuns, 
Displacing  me  ;  and  of  thy  house  they  mean 
To  make  a  nunnery,  where  none  but  their  own  sect' 
Must  enter  in  ;  men  generally  barred. 

Bar.  My  gold  !  my  gold  !  and  all  my  wealth  is  gone  ! 
You  partial  heavens,  have  I  deserved  this  plague  ?  260 

What,  will  you  thus  oppose  me,  luckless  stars,  " 
To  make  me  desperate  in  my  poverty  ? 
And  knowing  me  impatient  in  distress. 
Think  me  so  mad  as  I  will  hang  myself. 
That  I  may  vanish  o'er  the  earth  in  air. 
And  leave  no  memory  that  e'er  I  was? 
No,  I  will  live  ;  nor  loathe  I  this  my  life  : 
And,  since  you  leave  me  in  the  ocean  thus 
To  sink  or  swim,  and  put  me  to  my  shifts, 
I'll  rouse  my  senses  and  awake  myself.  270 

Daughter  !  I  have  it :  thou  perceiv'st  the  plight 
Wherein  these  Christians  have  oppressed  me : 
Be  ruled  by  me,  for  in  extremity 
We  ought  to  make  bar  of  no  policy. 
'    Abig.  Father,  whate'er  it  be  to  injure  them 
That  have  so  manifestly  wronged  us, 
What^ll  not  Abigail  attempt? 

Bar,  Why,  so ; 
Then  thus,  thou  told'st  me  they  have  turned  my  house 
Into  a  nunnery,  and  some  nuns  are  there  ? 

Abig.  I  did. 

Bar.  Then,  Abigail,  there  must  my  girl  280 

iSex. 


42  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [act  I. 

Entreat  the  abbess  to  be  entertained. 

Abig.  How,  as  a  nun  ? 

Bar.  Ay,  daughter,  for  religion 
Hides  many  mischiefs  from  suspicion. 
"  Abig.  Ay,  but,  father,  they  will  suspect  me  there. 

Bar.  Let  'em  suspect ;  but  be  thou  so  precise 
As  they  may  think  it  done  of  holiness. 
Entreat  'em  fair,  and  give  them  friendly  speech, 
And  seem  to  them  as  if  thy  sins  were  great, . 
Till  thou  hast  gotten  to  be  entertained. 

AMg.  Thus,  father,  shall  I  much  dissemble. 

Bar.  Tush  !  200 

As  good  dissemble  that  thou  never  mean'st, 
As  first  mean  truth  and  then  dissemble  it,  — 
A  counterfeit  profession  is  better 
Than  unseen  hypocrisy.^ 

Abig.  Well,  father,  say  that  I  be  entertained. 
What  then  shall  follow? 

Bar.  This  shall  follow  then  ; 
There  have  I  hid,  close  underneath  the  plank 
That  runs  along  the  upper-chamber  floor. 
The  gold  and  jewels  which  I  kept  for  thee. 
But  here  they  come  ;  be  cunning,  Abigail.  300 

Abig.  Then,  father,  go  with  me. 

Bar.  No,  Abigail,  in  this 
It  is  not  necessary  I  be  seen : 
For  I  will  seem  offended  with  thee  for't : 
Be  close,  my  girl,  for  this  must  fetch  my  gold.    \_They  retire. 

Enter  Friar  Jacomo,  Friar  Barnardine,  Abbess,  and  a  Nun. 

F.  Jac.  Sisters,  we   now   are   almost   at   the   new-made 
nunnery. 

^  This  passage  is  corrup* 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  43 

Abb.  The  better ;  for  we  love  not  to  be  seen : 
'Tis  thirty  winters  long  since  some  of  us 
Did  stray  so  far  amongst  the  multitude. 

F.Jac.  But,  madam,  this  house 
And  waters  ^  of  this  new-made  nunnery  310 

Will  much  delight  you. 

Abb.  It  may  be  so  ;  but  who  comes  here  ? 

[Abigail  comes  forward. 
■    Abig.  Grave  abbess,  and  you,  happy  virgins'  guide, 
Pity -the  state  of  a  distressed  maid. 

Abb.  What  art  thou,  daughter? 

Abig.  The  hopeless  daughter  of  a  hapless  Jew, 
The  Jew  of  Malta,  wretched  Barabas ; 
Sometime  the  owner  of  a  goodly  house. 
Which  they  have  now  turned  to  a  nunnery. 

Abb.  Well,  daughter,  say,  what  is  thy  suit  with  us?         320 

Abig.  Fearing  the  afflictions  which  my  father  feels 
Proceed  from  sin,  or  want  of  faith  in  us, 
I'd  pass  away  my  life  in  penitence. 
And  be  a  novice  in  your  nunnery. 
To  make  atonement  for  my  labouring  soul. 

F.  Jac.  No  doubt,  brother,  but  this  proceedeth   of  the 
spirit. 

F.  Barn.  Ay,  and  of  a  moving  spirit  too,  brother;  but 
come. 
Let  us  entreat  she  may  be  entertained.  •;  i^iu.'  \  )■■  ; 

Abb.  Well,  daughter,  we  admit  you  for  a  nun."'  ••<>!!'  ''     ' 

Abig.  First  let  me  as  a  novice  learn  to  frame  330 

My  solitary  life  to  your  strait  laws. 
And  let  me  lodge  where  I  was  wont  to  He, 
I  do  not  doubt,  by  your  divine  precepts 

1  Bullen  suggests  cloisters. 


44  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  I. 

And  mine  own  industry,  but  to  profit  much. 

Bar.  {aside) .   As  much,  I  hope,  as  all  I  hid  is  worth. 

Abb.  Come,  daughter,  follow  us. 

Bar.   {coming forward) .  Why,  how  now,  Abigail, 
What  makest  thou  amongst  these  hateful  Christians  ? 

F.  Jac.  Hinder  her  not,  thou  man  of  little  faith, 
For  she  has  mortified  herself. 

Bar.  How  !  mortified  ? 

F.  Jac.  And  is  admitted  to  the  sisterhood.  340 

Bar.  Child  of  perdition,  and  thy  father's  shame  ! 
What  wilt  thou  do  among  these  hateful  fiends? 
I  charge  thee  on  my  blessing  that  thou  leave 
These  devils,  and  their  damned  heresy. 

Abig.  Father,  give  me — ^  [She  goes  to  him. 

Bar.  Nay,  back,  Abigail. 
(And  think  upon  the  jewels  and  the  gold ; 

\_Aside  to  Abigail  in  a  whisper. 
The  board  is  marked  thus  that  covers  it.) 
Away,  accursed  from  thy  father's  sight. 

F.Jac.  Barabas,  although  thou  art  in  mischief. 
And  wilt  not  see  thine  own  afflictions,  350 

Yet  let  thy  daughter  be  no  longer  blind. 

Bar.  Blind  friar,  I  reck  not  thy  persuasions, 
(The  board  is  marked  thus^  that  covers  it.) 

\_Aside  to  Abigail  in  a  whisper. 
For  I  had  rather  die  than  see  her  thus. 
Wilt  thou  forsake  me  too  in  my  distress, 
Seduced  daughter?    {Aside  in  a  whisper)  (Go,  forget  not,) 
Becomes  it  Jews  to  be  so  credulous  ? 
(To-morrow  early  I'll  be  at  the  door.)    \^Aside  in  a  whisper. 

1  Dyce  suggests  forgive  me. 

2  The  original  edition  has  t  inserted  here,  to  indicate  the  sign  Barabas 
was  to  make. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA  45 

No,  come  not  at  me ;  if  thou  wilt  be  damned, 

Forget  me,  see  me  not,  and  so  be  gone.  360 

(Farewell,  remember  to-morrow  morning.) 

\_Aside  in  a  whisper. 
Out,  out,  thou  wretch  ! 

\_Exeunt,  on  one  side  Barabas,  on  the  other  side 
Friars,  Abbess,  Nun,  and  Abigail;  as  they 
are  going  out. 

Enter  Mathias. 

Math.  Who's  this  ?  fair  Abigail,  the  rich  Jew's  daughter. 
Become  a  nun  !  her  father's  sudden  fall 
Has  humbled  her  and  brought  her  down  to  this  : 
Tut,  she  were  fitter  for  a  tale  of  love. 
Than  to  be  tired  out  with  orisons. 

Enter  Lodowick. 

Lod.  Why,  how  now,  Don  Mathias  !  in  a  dump  ? 

Math.  Believe  me,  noble  Lodowick,  I  have  seen 
The  strangest  sight,  in  my  opinion,  370 

That  ever  I  beheld. 

Lod.  What  was't,  I  prithee  ? 

Math.  A  fair  young  maid,  scarce  fourteen  years  of  age. 
The  sweetest  flower  in  Cytherea's  field, 
Cropt  from  the  pleasures  of  the  fruitful  earth, 
And  strangely  metamorphosed  nun. 

Lod.  But  say,  what  was  she  ? 

Math.  Why,  the  rich  Jew's  daughter. 

Lod.  What,  Barabas,  whose  goods  were  lately  seized  ? 
Is  she  so  fair? 

Math.  And  matchless  beautiful ; 
As,  had  you  seen  her,  'twould  have  moved  your  heart. 


46  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  II. 

Though  countermined  with  walls  of  brass,  to  love,  380 

Or  at  the  least  to  pity. 

Lod.  And  if  she  be  so  fair  as  you  report, 
'Twere  time  well  spent  to  go  and  visit  her : 
How  say  you,  shall  we  ? 

Math.  I  must  and  will,  sir ;  there's  no  remedy. 

Lod.  And  so  will  I  too,  or  it  shall  go  hard. 
Farewell,  Mathias. 

Math.  Farewell,  Lodowick.  \_Exeunt  severally. 


ACT   II. 

Scene  I.  —  Before  Barabas's  House,  now  a  Nunnery. 

Enter  Barabas  with  a  light. 

Bar.  Thus,  like  the  sad  presaging  raven  that  tolls 
The  sick  man's  passport  in  her  hollow  beak. 
And  in  the  shadow  of  the  silent  night 
Doth  shake  contagion  from  her  sable  wings ; 
Vexed  and  tormented  runs  poor  Barabas 
With  fatal  curses  towards  these  Christians. 
The  uncertain  pleasures  of  swift-footed  time 
Have  ta'en  their  flight,  and  left  me  in  despair ; 
And  of  my  former  riches  rests  no  more 
But  bare  remembrance,  like  a  soldier's  scar, 
That  has  no  further  comfort  for  his  maim. 
O  thou,  that  with  a  fiery  pillar  led'st 
The  sons  of  Israel  through  the  dismal  shades, 
Light  Abraham's  offspring ;  and  direct  the  hand 
Of  Abigail  this  night ;  or  let  the  day 
Turn  to  eternal  darkness  after  this  1 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  ^7 

No  sleep  can  fasten  on  my  watchful  eyes, 
Nor  quiet  enter  my  distempered  thoughts, 
Till  I  have  answer  of  my  Abigail. 

Enter  Abigail  above. 

Abig.  Now  have  I  happily  espied  a  time  20 

To  search  the  plank  my  father  did  appoint ; 
And  here  behold,  unseen,  where  I  have  found 
The  gold,  the  pearls,  and  jewels,  which  he  hid. 

Bar.  Now  I  remember  those  old  women's  words, 
Who  in  my  wealth  ^  would  tell  me  winter's  tales, 
And  speak  of  spirits  and  ghosts  that  glide  by  night 
About  the  place  where  treasure  hath  been  hid  :  ^ 
And  now  methinks  that  I  am  one  of  those  : 
For  whilst  I  live,  here  lives  my  soul's  sole  hope. 
And,  when  I  die,  here  shall  my  spirit  walk.  30 

Abig.  Now  that  my  father's  fortune  were  so  good 
As  but  to  be  about  this  happy  place ; 
'Tis  not  so  happy  :  yet  when  we  parted  last, 
He  said  he  would  attend  me  in  the  morn. 
Then,  gentle  sleep,  where'er  his  body  rests, 
Give  charge  to  Morpheus  that  he  may  dream 
A  golden  dream,  and  of  the  sudden  wake, 
Come  and  receive  the  treasure  I  have  fourKi. 

Bar.  Bueno para  fodos  mi ganado  no  era: 
As  good  go  on  as  sit  so  sadly  thus.  4c 

But  stay,  what  star  shines  yonder  in  the  east?^ 
The  loadstar  of  my  life,  if  Abigail. 
Who's  there?       ~ 


1  Bullen  suggests  that  this  is  a  misprint  {or  youth.  2  Cf.  Hamlet,  i.  i. 

8  Cf.  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ii,  2 : 

"  But  soft!  what  light  through  yonder  window  breaks! 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun!  " 


48  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  II. 

Abig.  Who's  that? 

Bar.  Peace,  Abigail,  'tis  I. 

Abig.  Then,  father,  here  receive  thy  happiness. 

Bar.  Hast  thou't? 

Abig.  Here,  {throws  down  the  bags)  hast  thou't? 
There's  more,  and  more,  and  more. 

Bar.  O  my  girl. 
My  gold,  my  fortune,  my  felicity  ! 
Strength  to  my  soul,  death  to  mine  enemy  ! 
Welcome  the  first  beginner  of  my  bhss  !  50 

O  Abigail,  Abigail,  that  I  had  thee  here  too  ! 
Then  my  desires  were  fully  satisfied : 
But  I  will  practise  thy  enlargement  thence : 
O  girl !  O  gold  !  ^  O  beauty  !  O  my  bliss  !        [^Hugs  the  bags. 

Abig.  Father,  it  draweth  towards  midnight  now. 
And  'bout  this  time  the  nuns  begin  to  wake ; 
To  shun  suspicion,  therefore,  let  us  part. 

Bar.  Farewell,  my  joy,  and  by  my  fingers  take 
A  kiss  from  him  that  sends  it  from  his  soul. 

\^Exit  Abigail  above. 
Now  Phoebus  ope  the  eyelids  of  the  day,^  60 

And  for  the  raven  wake  the  morning  lark. 
That  I  may  hover  with  her  in  the  air ; 
Singing  o'er  these,  as  she  does  o'er  her  young, 
Hermoso placer  de  los  dineros?  \_Exit. 

1  Cf.  Shylock's  "  My  daughter !  O  my  ducats !  O  my  daughter !  "    Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  ii,  8. 

2  Cf.  Job  xli,  18 :  "  His  eyes  are  like  the  eyelids  of  the  morning;  "  and 
Milton,  Lycidas  :  "  Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn." 

^  Spanish  ;  "  beautiful  pleasure  of  money." 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  49 

Scene  II.  —  The  Senate-house. 
Enter  Ferneze,  Martin  del  Bosco,  and  Knights. 

Fern.  Now,  captain,  tell  us  whither  thou  art  bound  ? 
Whence  is  thy  ship  that  anchors  in  our  road? 
And  why  thou  cam'st  ashore  without  our  leave? 

Bosc.  Governor  of  Malta,  hither  am  I  bound ; 
My  ship,  the  Flying  Dragon,  is  of  Spain, 
And  so  am  I :  Del  Bosco  is  my  name ; 
Vice-admiral  unto  the  Catholic  King. 

1st  Knight.  'Tis  true,  my  lord,  therefore  entreat  *  him 
well. 

Bosc.  Our  fraught  is  Grecians,  Turks,  and  Afric  Moors. 
For  late  upon  the  coast  of  Corsica,  10 

Because  we  vailed^  not  to  the  Turkish  fleet, 
Their  creeping  galleys  had  us  in  the  chase  : 
But  suddenly  the  wind  began  to  rise. 
And  then  we  luffed  and  tacked,  and  fought  at  ease  : 
Some  have  we  fired,  and  many  have  we  sunk  j 
But  one  amongst  the  rest  became  our  prize  : 
The  captain's  slain,  the  rest  remain  our  slaves. 
Of  whom  we  would  make  sale  in  Malta  here. 

Fern.  Martin  del  Bosco,  I  have  heard  of  thee ; 
Welcome  to  Malta,  and  to  all  of  us ;  20 

But  to  admit  a  sale  of  these  thy  Turks 
We  may  not,  nay,  we  dare  not  give  consent 
By  reason  of  a  tributary  league. 

1st  Knight.  Del  Bosco,  as  thou  lov'st  and  honour'st  us, 
Persuade  our  governor  against  the  Turk ; 
This  truce  we  have  is  but  in  hope  of  gold, 

1  Treat.  2  Lowered  not  our  flags. 


56  THE  JEW    OF   MALTA.  [ACT  II. 

And  with  that  sum  he  craves  might  we  wage  war. 

Bosc.  Will  Knights  of  Malta  be  in  league  with  Turks, 
And  buy  it  basely  too  for  sums  of  gold  ? 
My  lord,  remember  that,  to  Europe's  shame,  30 

The  Christian  Isle  of  Rhodes,^  from  whence  you  came, 
Was  lately  lost,  and  you  were  stated  ^  here 
To  be  at  deadly  enmity  with  Turks. 

Fern.  Captain,  we  know  it,  but  our  force  is  small. 

Bosc.  What  is  the  sum  that  Calymath  requires  ? 

Fern.  A  hundred  thousand  crowns. 

Bosc.  My  lord  and  king  hath  title  to  this  isle, 
And  he  means  quickly  to  expel  you  hence ; 
Therefore  be  ruled  by  me,  and  keep  the  gold  : 
I'll  write  unto  his  majesty  for  aid,  40 

And  not  depart  until  I  see  you  free. 

Fern.  On  this  condition  shall  thy  Turks  be  sold  : 
Go,  officers,  and  set  them  straight  in  show.        \_Exeunt  Off. 
Bosco,  thou  shalt  be  Malta's  general ; 
We  and  our  warlike  Knights  will  follow  thee 
Against  these  barb'rous  misbelieving  Turks. 

Bosc.  So  shall  you  imitate  those  you  succeed  : 
For  when  their  hideous  force  environed  Rhodes, 
Small  though  the  number  was  that  kept  the  town, 
They  fought  it  out  and  not  a  man  survived  50 

To  bring  the  hapless  news  to  Christendom. 

Fern.  So  will  we  fight  it  out ;  come,  let's  away  : 

Proud  daring  Calymath,  instead  of  gold. 

We'll  send  thee  bullets  wrapt  in  smoke  and  fire  :  ^ 

Claim  tribute  where  thou  wilt,  we  are  resolved. 

Honour  is  bought  with  blood  and  not  with  gold.       {^Exeunt 

1  Rhodes  was  wrested  from  the  Knights  of  St.  John  by  Solyman  II,  in 
1522. 

2  Established.  3  cf.  King  John,  i,  2. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  5I 

Scene  III.  —  The  Market-place. 
Enter  Officers  with  Ithamore  and  other  Slaves. 

1st  Off.  This  is  the  market-place,  here  let  'em  stand  : 
Fear  not  their  sale,  for  they'll  be  quickly  bought. 

2d  Off.  Every  one's  price  is  written  on  his  back, 
And  so  much  must  they  yield  or  not  be  sold. 

1st  Off.  Here  comes  the  Jew ;  had  not  his  goods  been 
seized, 
He'd  given  us  present  money  for  them  all. 

Enter  Barabas. 

Bar.  In  spite  of  these  swine-eating  Christians,  — 
Unchosea^nation,  never  circumcised, 
Such  as  (poor  villains  1)  were  ne'er  thought  upon 
Till  Titus  and  Vespasian  conquered  us,  —  10 

Am  I  become  as  wealthy  as  I  was  : 
They  hoped  my  daughter  would  ha'  been  a  nun ; 
But  she's  at  home,  and  I  have  bought  a  house 
As  great  and  fair  as  is  the  governor's ; 
And  there  in  spite  of  MartawiTTI  dwell, 
Having  Ferneze's  hand,  whose  heart  I'll  have ; 
Ay,  and  his  son's  too,  or  it  shall  go  hard. 
I  am  not  of  the  tribe^  of  Levi,  I, 
That  can  so  soon  forget  an  injury. 
^  We  Jews  can  fawn  like  spaniels  when  we  please  :  20 

And  when  we  grin  we  bite,  yet  are  our  looks 
As  innocent  and  harmless  as  a  lamb's. 
I  learned  in  Florence  how  to  kiss  my  hand, 
ileave ji£my  shoulders  when  they  call  me  dog,^ 

I  Cf.  this  passage  with  Shylock's  speeches  with  AnTonio ;  Merchant  oj 
Venice y  i,  3. 


52  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  ii. 

And  duck  as  low  as  any  barefoot  friar ; 

Hoping  to  see  them  starve  upon  a  stall, 

Or  else  be  gathered  for  in  our  synagogue, 

That,  when  the  offering-basin  comes  to  me, 

Even  for  charity  I  may  spit  into't. 

Here  comes  Don  Lodowick,  the  governor's  son,  30 

One  that  I  love  for  his  good  father's  sake. 

Enter  Lodowick. 

Lod.  I  hear  the  wealthy  Jew  walked  this  way : 
I'll  seek  him  out,  and  so  insinuate. 
That  I  may  have  a  sight  of  Abigail ; 
For  Don  Mathias  tells  me  she  is  fair. 

Bar.  {aside).  Now  will  I  show  njyseJf 
To  have  more  of  the  serpent  than  the  dove  \ 
That  is  —  more  knave  than  fool. 

Lod.  Yond'  walks  the  Jew ;  now  for  fair  Abigail. 

Bar.  {aside).  Ay,  ay,  no  doubt  but  she's  at  your  command. 

Lod.  Barabas,  thou  know'st  I  am  the  governor's  son.       41 
•    Bar.  I  would  you  were  his  father,  too,  sir ; 
That's  all  the  harm  I  wish  you.     {Aside)  The  slave  looks 
Like  a  hog's-cheek  new  singed. 

Lod.  Whither  walk'st  thou,  Barabas  ? 

Bar.  No  farther  :  'tis  a  custom  held  with  us, 
That  when  we  speak  with  Gentiles  like  to  you, 
We  turn  into  the  air  to  purge  ourselves  : 
For  unto  us  the  promise  doth  belong. 

Lod.  Well,  Barabas,  canst  help  me  to  a  diamond?  50 

Bar.  O,  sir,  your  father  had  my  diamoads.--^.. 
Yet  I  have  one  left  that  will  serve  your  turn  :  — 
{Aside)  I  meaa  m)r  daughter  :  but  ere  he._shaU  have  her 
ril^ciifice-hcr  on  »f>i1e  of  wnnd,  - 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  53 

I  ha'  the  poison  of  the  city  for  him/ 
And  the  white  leprosy.    '    ..  . 

Lod.  What  sparkle  does  it  give  without  a  foil  ? 

Bar.  The  diamond  that  I  talk  of  ne'er  was  foiled  -."^  — 
{Aside)  But  when  he  touches  it,  it  will  be  foiled  :  — 
Lord  Lodowick,  it  sparkles  bright  and  fair.  60 

.     Lod.  Is  it  square  or  pointed,  pray  let  me  know. 

Bar.  Pointed  it  is,  good  sir  —  (aside)  but  not  for  you. 

Lod.  I  like  it  much  the  better. 

Bar.  So  do  I  too. 

Lod.  How  shows  it  by  night? 

Bar.  Outshines  Cynthia's  rays. 

Lod.  And  what's  the  price? 

Bar.  {aside) .  Your  life  an  if  you  have  it.     O  my  lord, 
We  will  not  jar  about  the  price  ;  come  to  my  house 
And  I  will  give't  your  honour  {aside)  with  a  vengeance. 

Lod.  No,  Barabas,  I  will  deserve  it  first. 

Bar.  Good  sir, 
Your  father  has  deserved  it  at  my  hands, 
Who,  of  mere  charity  and  Christian  truth, 
To  bring  me  to  religious  purity, 
And  as  it  were  in  catechising  sort, 
To  make  me  mindful  of  my  mortal  sins. 
Against  my  will,  and  whether  I  would  or  no. 
Seized  all  I  had,  and  thrust  me  out  o'  doors, 
And  made  my  house  a  place  for  nuns  most  chaste. 

Lod.  No  doubt  your  soul  shall  reap  the  fruit  of  it. 

Bar.  Ay,  but,  my  lord,  the  harvest  is  far  off.  80 

And  yet  I  know  the  prayers  of  those  nuns 
And  holy  friars,  having  money  for  their  pains. 
Are  wondrous  ;   {aside)  and  indeed  do  no  man  good  : 
1  Dyce  suggest?  that  this  is  a  misprint.  2  Defiled. 


54  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  ii. 

And  seeing  they  are  not  idle,  but  still  doing, 
'Tis  likely  they  in  time  may  reap  some  fruit, 
I  mean  in  fulness  of  perfection. 

Lod,  Good  Barabas,  glance  not  at  our  holy  nuns. 

Bar.  No,  but  I  do  it  through  a  burning  zeal,  — 
{Aside)  Hoping  ere  long  to  set  the  house  afire ; 
For  though  they  do  a  while  increase  and  multiply,  90 

I'll  have  a  saying^  to  that  nunnery. — 
As  for  the  diamond,  sir,  I  told  you  of. 
Come  home  and  there's  no  price  shall  make  us  part, 
Even  for  your  honourable  father's  sake.  — 
{Aside)  It  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  see  your  death.  — • 
But  now  I  must  be  gone  to  buy  a  slave. 

Lod.  And,  Barabas,  I'll  bear  thee  company. 

Bar.  Come  then  —  here's  the  market-place. 
What's  the  price  of  this  slave  ?    Two  hundred  crowns  ! 
Do  the  Turks  weigh  so  much  ? 

1st  Off.  Sir,  that's  his  price.  too 

Bar.  What,  can  he  steal  that  you  demand  so  much  > 
Belike  he  has  some  new  trick  for  a  purse ; 
And  if  he  has,  he  is  worth  three  hundred  plates,^ 
So  that,  being  bought,  the  town-seal  might  be  got 
To  keep  him  for  his  lifetime  from  the  gallows : 
The  sessions  day  is  critical  to  thieves, 
And  few  or  none  'scape  but  by  being  purged. 

Lod.  Rat'st  thou  this  Moor  but  at  two  hundred  plates  ? 

1st  Off.  No  more,  my  lord. 

Bar.  Why  should  this  Turk  be  dearer  than  that  Moor?  no 

1st  Off.  Because  he  is  young  and  has  more  qualities. 

1  Cf.  Barnes's  Divil's  Charter,  1607 ;  "  For  I  must  have  a  saying  to  those 
bottels." 

2  Pieces  of  silver. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  •!  '55  ^^ 

\    J 

Bar.  What,  hast  the  philosopher's  stone  ?  an  thou  hast,^^-^-'''^ 
break  my  head  with  it,  I'll  forgive  thee. 

Slave.  No,  sir ;  I  can  cut  and  shave. 

Bar.  Let  me  see,  sirrah,  are  you  not  an  old  shaver?^ 

Slave.  Alas,  sir  !  I  am  a  very  youth. 

Bar.  A  youth?  I'll  buy  you,   and    marry  you    to    Lady 
Vanity,^  if  you  do  well. 
r    Slaiw.  I  will  serve  you,  sir.  119 

Bar.  Some  wicked  trick  or  other.  It  may  be,  under 
colour  of  shaving,  thou'lt  cut  my  throat  for  my  goods. 
Tell  me,  hast  thou  thy  health  well  ? 

Slave.  Ay,  passing  well. 

Bar.  So  much  the  worse ;  I  must  have  one  that's  sickly, 
an't  be  but  for  sparing  victuals ;  'tis  not  a  stone  of  beef  a 
day  will  maintain  you  in  these  chops ;  let  me  see  one  that's 
somewhat  leaner. 

1st  Off.  Here's  a  leaner,  how  like  you  him  ? 

Bar.  Where  wast  thou  born  ? 

Itha.  In  Thrace  ;  brought  up  in  Arabia.  130 

Bar.  So  much  the  better,  thou  art  for  my  turn. 
An  hundred  crowns?  I'll  have  him;  there's  the  coin. 

\_Gives  money. 

1st  Off.  Then  mark  him,  sir,  and  take  him  hence. 
^.Buf^^aside) .  Ay,  mark  him,  you  were  best,  for  this  is  he 
That  by  my  help  shall  do  much  villainy. 
My  lord,  farewell :  Come,  sirrah,  you  are  mine. 
As  for  the  diamond,  it  shall  be  yours ; 
I  pray,  sir,  be  no  stranger  at  my  house. 
All  that  I  have  shall  be  at  your  command. 

1  This  term  of  contempt  was  originally  applied  to  priests  with  shaven 
crown. 

2  An  allegorical  character  in  the  old  morality  plays  ;  cf.  /  Henry  IV,  ii,  4. 


56  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  II. 


Enter  Mathias  and  his  Mother  Katherine. 

Math.  What  makes  the  Jew  and  Lodowick  so  private  ?  140 
{Aside)  I  fear  me  'tfe  about  fair  Abigail. 

Bar,  Yonder  comes  Don  Mathias,  let  us  stay  ;  ^ 

\_Exit  Lodowick. 
He  loves  my  daughter,  and  she  holds  him  dear : 
But  I  have  sworn  to  frustrate  both  their  hopes, 
And  be  revenged  upon  the  governor. 

Kath.  This  Moor  is  comeliest,  is  he  not  ?  speak,  son. 

Math.  No,  this  is  the  better,  mother ;  view  this  well. 

Bar.  Seem  not  to  know  me  here  before  your  mother. 
Lest  she  mistrust  the  match  that  is  in  hand  : 
When  you  have  brought  her  home,  come  to  my  house  ;     150 
Think  of  me  as  thy  father ;  son,  farewell. 

Math.  But  wherefore  talked  Don  Lodowick  with  you? 

Bar.  Tush  !  man,  we  talked  of  diamonds,  not  of  Abigail. 

Kath.  Tell  me,  Mathias,  is  not  that  the  Jew? 

Bar.  As  for  the  comment  on  the  Maccabees, 
I  have  it,  sir,  and  'tis  at  your  command. 

Math.  Yes,  madam,  and  my  talk  with  him  was  but 
About  the  borrowing  of  a  book  or  two. 

Kath.  Converse  not  with  him,  he's  cast  off  from  heaven. 
Thou  hast  thy  crowns,  fellow ;  come,  let's  away.  160 

Math.  Sirrah,  Jew,  remember  the  book. 

Bar.  Marry  will  I,  sir. 

\_Exeunt  Mathias  a?td  his  Mother. 

Off.  Come,  I  have  made  reasonable  market;  let's  away. 

\_Exeunt  Officers  with  Slaves. 

Bar.  Now  let  me  know  thy  name,  and  therewithal 
Thy  birth,  condition,  and  profession. 

1  Break  off  our  conversation. 


SCENE  III.J  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  57 

7//iaJ-Faithf  sir,  my  birth  is  but  mean : 

Itfeamere,  my  profession  what  you  please. 

Bar.  Hast  thou  no  trade  ?  then  Hsten  to  my  words, 

And  I  will  teach  thee  that  shall  stick  by  thee  : 

First  be  thou  void  of  these  affections,  ^^  »  170 

Compassion,  love,  vain  hope,  and  heartless  fear,  ^^^^^Z>yJ 

Be  moved  at  nothing,  see  thou  pity  none,  /^-C^p 

But  to  thyself  smile  when  the  Christians  moan. 

Itha.  O  brave  !  master,  I  worship  your  nose  ^  for  this. 
Bar.  As  for  myself,  I  walk  abroad  o'  nights^ 

And  kill  sick  people  groaning  under  walls  : 

Sometimes  I  go  about  and  poison  wells ; 

And  now  and  then,  to  cherish  Christian  thieves, 

I  am  content  to  lose  some  of  my  crowns, 
I  That  I  may,  walking  in  my  gallery,  180 

I  See  'em  go  pinioned  along  by  my  door. 
i  Being  young,  I  studied  physic,  and  began 
I  To  practise  first  upon  the  Italian ; 

There  I  enriched  the  priests  with  burials. 

And  always  kept  the  sextons'  arms  in  ure  ^ 

With  digging  graves  and  ringing  dead  men's  knells  : 

And  after  that  was  I  an  engineer. 

And  in  the  wars  '  twixt  France  and  Germany, 

Under  pretence  of  helping  Charles  the  Fifth, 
I  Slew  friend  and  enemy  with  my  stratagems.  190 

Then  after  that  was  I  an  usurer, 
!  And  with  extorting,  cozening,  forfeiting, 
\  And  tricks  belonging  unto  brokery, 

1  Barabas  was  represented  with  a  large  false  nose.    So  Rowley,  in  his 
Search  for  Money  (1609),  alludes  to  the  "  artificial!  Jewe  of  Maltaes  nose." 

2  In  Titus  Andronicus  (v,  i,)  there  is  a  similar  catalogue  of  villanies. 

3  Use. 


58  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [act  II. 

I  filled  the  jails  with  bankrupts  in  a  year, 
And  with  young  orphans  planted  hospitals, 
And  every  moon  made  some  or  other  mad, 
And  now  and  then  one  hang  himself  for  grief, 
Pinning  upon  his  breast  a  long  great  scroll 
How  I  with  interest  tormented  him. 

But  mark  how  I  am  blest  for  plaguing  them ;  200 

I  have  as  much  coin  as  will  buy  the  town. 
But  tell  me  now,  how  hast  thou  spent  thy  time? 
^//^g.'^aith,  master, 
In  setting  Christian  villages  on  fire. 
Chaining  of  eunuchs,  binding  galley-slaves. 
One  time  I  was  an  ostler  in  an  inn, 
Andjn  the  night-time  secretly  would  I  steal 
To  travellers'  chambers,  and  there  cut  their  throats  : 
Once  at  Jerusalem,  where  the  pilgrims  kneeled, 
I  strewed  powder  on  the  marble  stones,  210 

And  therewithal  their  knees  would  rankle  so. 
That  I  have  laughed  a- good  ^  to  see  the  cripples 
Go  limping  home  to  Christendom  on  stilts. 

Bar.  Why  this  is  something  :  make  account  of  me 
As  of  thy  fellow  ;  we  are  villains  both  : 
Both  circumcised,  we  liale  Ulil'fSlfiHij  both  : 
Be  true  and  secret,  thou~shalt  want  no  gold. 
But  stand  aside,  here  comes  Don  Lodowick. 

Enter  Lodowick.'* 

Lod.  O  Barbaras,  well  met ; 
Where  is  the  diamond  you  told  me  of?  220 

1  Heartily. 

2  Dyce  suggests  that  the  scene  is  shifted  to  the  outside  of  Barabas's 
house. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  59 

Bar.  I  have  it  for  you,  sir ;  please  you  walk  in  with  me  : 
What  ho,  Abigail !  open  the  door,  I  say. 

Enter  Abigail  with  letters. 

Abig.  In  good  time,  father ;  here  are  letters  come 
From  Ormus,  and  the  post  stays  here  within. 

Bar.  Give  me  the  letters.  —  Daughter,  do  you  hear. 
Entertain  Lodowick  the  governor's  son 
With  all  the  courtesy  you  can  afford ; 
(AstWe)  Use  him  as  if  he  were  a  Philistine, 
Dissemble,  swear,  protest,  vow  love  to  him, 
He  is  not  of  the  seed  of  Abraham.  —  230 

I  am  a  little  busy,  sir,  pray  pardon  me. 
Abigail,  bid  him  welcome  for  my  sake. 

Ah'g.  For  your  sake  and  his  own  he's  welcome  hither. 

Bar.  (aside) .  Daughter,  a  word  more ;  kiss  him ;  speak 
him  fair. 
And  like  a  cunning  Jew  so  cast  about, 
That  ye  be  both  made  sure  ^  ere  you  come  out. 

Ah'g.  O  father  !  Don  Mathias  is  my  love. 

Bar.  (aside) .  I  know  it :  yet  I  say,  make  love  to  him  ; 
Do,  it  is  requisite  it  should  be  so  — 

Nay,  on  my  life,  it  is  my  factor's  hand  —  240 

But  go  you  in,  I'll  think  upon  the  account. 

\_Exeunt  Abigail  ajid  Lodowick  into  the  house. 
The  account  is  made,  for  Lodowick  he  dies. 
My  factor  sends  me  word  a  merchant's  fled 
That  owes  me  for  a  hundred  tun  of  wine  : 
I  weigh  it  thus  much  (snapping  his  fingers)  \  I  have  wealth 

enough. 
For  now  by  this  has  he  kissed  Abigail ; 

1  Betrothed. 


6o  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  II. 

And  she  vows  love  to  him,  and  he  to  her. 

As  sure  as  Heaven  rained  manna  for  the  Jews, 

So  sure  shall  he  and  Don  Mathias  die  : 

His  father  was  my  chiefest  enemy.  250 

Enter  Mathias. 

Whither  goes  Don  Mathias  ?  stay  awhile. 

Math.  Whither,  but  to  my  fair  love  Abigail  ? 

Bar.  Thou  know'st,  and  Heaven  can  witness  this  is  true, 
That  I  intend  my  daughter  shall  be  thine. 

Math.  Ay,  Barabas,  or  else  thou  wrong'st  me  much. 

Bar.  O,  Heaven  forbid  I  should  have  such  a  thought. 
Pardon  me  though  I  weep  :  the  governor's  son 
Will,  whether  I  will  or  no,  have  Abigail : 
He  sends  her  letters,  bracelets,  jewels,  rings. 

Math.  Does  she  receive  them  ?  260 

Bar.  She?     No,  Mathias,  no,  but  sends  them  back. 
And  when  he  comes,  she  locks  herself  up  fast ; 
Yet  through  the  keyhole  will  he  talk  to  her, 
While  she  runs  to  the  window  looking  out. 
When  you  should  come  and  hale  him  from  the  door. 

Math.  O  treacherous  Lodowick  ! 

Bar.  Even  now  as  I  came  home,  he  slipt  me  in, 
And  I  am  sure  he  is  with  Abigail. 

Math.  I'll  rouse  him  thence. 

Bar.  Not  for  all  Malta,  therefore  sheathe  your  sword ;  270 
If  you  love  me,  no  quarrels  in  my  house ; 
But  steal  you  in,  and  seem  to  see  him  not ; 
I'll  give  him  such  a  warning  ere  he  goes 
As  he  shall  have  small  hopes  of  Abigail. 
Away,  for  here  they  come. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW   OF  MALTA.  6l 

Re-enter  Lodowick  and  Abigail. 

Math.  What,  hand  in  hand  !     I  cannot  suffer  this. 

Bar.  Mathias,  as  thou  lovest  me,  not  a  word. 

Math.  Well,  let  it  pass,  another  time  shall  serve. 

\_Exit  into  the  house. 

Lod.  Barabas,  is  not  that  the  widow's  son? 

Bar.  Ay,  and  take  heed,  for  he  hath  sworn  your  death.  280 

Lod.  My  death  ?  what,  is  the  base-born  peasant  mad  ? 

Bar.  No,  no,  but  happily  he  stands  in  fear 
Of  that  which  you,  I  think,  ne'er  dream  upon, 
My  daughter  here,  a  paltry  silly  girl. 

Lod.  Why,  loves  she  Don  Mathias? 

Bar.  Doth  she  not  with  her  smiling  answer  you  ? 

Abig.  {aside) .   He  has  my  heart ;  I  smile  against  my  will. 

Lod.  Barabas,  thou  know'st  I've  loved  thy  daughter  long. 

Bar.  And  so  has  she  done  you,  even  from  a  child. 

Lod.  And  now  I  can  no  longer  hold  my  mind.  290 

Bar.  Nor  I  the  affection  that  I  bear  to  you. 

Lod.  This  is  thy  diamond,  tell  me  shall  I  h^j^e  it  ? 

Bar.  "Win  it,  and  wear  it,  it  is  yet  unsoiled. 
O  !  but  I  know  your  lordship  would  disdain 
To  marry  with  the  daughter  of  a  Jew ; 
And  yet  I'll  give  her  many  a  golden  cross  ^ 
With  Christian  posies  ^  round  about  the  ring. 

Lod.  'Tis  not  thy  wealth,  but  her  that  I  esteem. 
Yet  crave  I  thy  consent. 

Bar.  And  mine  you  have,  yet  let  me  talk  to  her.  —       300 
(Aside)  This  offspring  of  Cain,  this  Jebusite,^ 

1  A  coin  with  a  cross  stamped  on  one  side,  like  the  Portuguese  cruzado. 

2  Mottoes. 

3  The  Jebusites  were  one  of  the  seven  Canaanitish  nations  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  writers  of  the  Old  Testament,  were  doomed  to  destruction. 


62  THE  JEW   OF  MALT4  [act  ii. 

That  never  tasted  of  the  Passover, 
Nor  e'er  shall  see  the  land  of  Canaan, 
Nor  our  Messias  that  is  yet  to  come ; 
This  gentle  maggot,  Lodowick,  I  mean. 
Must  be  deluded  :  let  him  have  thy  hand, 
But  keep  thy  heart  till  Don  Mathias  comes. 

Abig.  What,  shall  I  be  betrothed  to  Lodowick? 

Bar.  It's  no  sin  to  deceive  a  Christian ; 
For  they  themselves  hold  it  a  principle,  310 

Faith  is  not  to  be  held  with  heretics ; 
But  all  are  heretics  that  are  not  Jews ; 
This  follows  well,  and  therefore,  daughter,  fear  not.  — 
I  have  entreated  her,  and  she  will  grant. 

Lod.  Then,  gentle  Abigail,  plight  thy  faith  to  me. 

Abig.  I  cannot  choose,  seeing  my  father  bids.  — 
{Aside)  Nothing  but  death  shall  part  my  love  and  me. 
'  Lod.  Now  have  I  that  for  which  my  soul  hath  longed. 

Bar.  (aside) .  So  have  not  I,  but  yet  I  hope  I  shall. 

Abig.  {aside) .  O  wretched  Abigail,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

Lod.  Why*on  the  sudden  is  your  colour  changed  ?  321 

Abig.  I  know  not,  but  farewell,  I  must  be  gone. 

Bar.  Stay  her,  but  let  her  not  speak  one  word  more. 

Lod.  Mute  o'  the  sudden?  here's  a  sudden  change: 

Bar.  O,  muse  not  at  it,  'tis  the  Hebrews'  guise. 
That  maidens  new  betrothed  should  weep  awhile  : 
Trouble  her  not ;  sweet  Lodowick,  depart : 
She  is  thy  wife,  and  thou  shalt  be  mine  heir. 

Lod.  O,  is't  the  custom  ?  then  I  am  resolved  : 
But  rather  let  the  brightsome  heavens  be  dim,  330 

And  nature's  beauty  choke  with  stifling  clouds. 
Than  my  fair  Abigail  should  frown  on  me.  — 
There  comes  the  villain,  now  I'll  be  revenged. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  6^ 


Re-enter  Mathias. 

Bar.  Be  quiet,  Lodowick,  it  is  enough 
That  I  have  made  thee  sure  to  Abigail. 

Lod.  Well,  let  him  go.  \^Exit 

Bar.  Well,  but  for  me,  as  you  went  in  at  doors 
You  had  been  stabbed,  but  not  a  word  on't  now ; 
Here  must  no  speeches  pass,  nor  swords  be  drawn. 

Math.  Suffer  me,  Barabas,  but  to  follow  him.  340 

Bar.  No ;  so  shall  I,  if  any  hurt  be  done. 
Be  made  an  accessory  of  your  deeds ; 
Revenge  it  on  him  when  you  meet  him  next. 

Math.  For  this  I'll  have  his  heart. 

Bar.  Do  so ;  lo  here  I  give  thee  Abigail. 

Math.  What  greater  gift  can  poor  Mathias  have  ? 
Shall  Lodowick  rob  me  of  so  fair  a  love? 
My  life  is  not  so  dear  as  Abigail. 

Bar.  My  heart  misgives  me,  that,  to  cross  your  love. 
He's  with  your  mother ;  therefore  after  him.  350 

Math.  What,  is  he  gone  unto  my  mother? 

Bar.  Nay,  if  you  will,  stay  till  she  comes  herself. 

Math.  I  cannot  stay ;  for  if  my  mother  come, 
She'll  die  with  grief.  {^Exit. 

Abig.  I  cannot  take  my  leave  of  him  for  tears  : 
Father,  why  have  you  thus^incensed  them  both  ? 

Bar.  What's  that  to  thee  ? 

Abig.  I'll  make  'em  friends  again. 

Bar.  You'll  make  'em  friends  ! 
Are  there  not  Jews  enow  in  Malta,  360 

But  thou  must  doat  upon  a  Christian  ? 

Abig.  I  will  have  Don  Mathias,  he  is  my  love. 

Bar.  Yes,  you  shall  have  him  :  go  put  her  in. 


64  THE  JEW   OF  MALTA.  [ACT  III. 

Itha.  Ay,  I'll  put  her  in.  {Puts  Abigail  in. 

Bar.  Now  tell  me,  Ithamore,  howlik'st  thou  this? 

Itha.  Faith,  master,  I  think  by  this 
Yqu  purchase  both  their  lives ;  is  it  not  so  ? 

Bar.  True ;  and  it  shall  be  cunningly  performed. 

Itha.  O  master,  that  I  might  have  a  hand  in  this. 

Bar.  Ay^  so  thou  shalt,  'tis  thou  must  do  the  deed  :  370 
Take  this,  and  bear  it  to  Mathias  straight,  [  Gives  a  letter. 
And  tell  him  that  it  comes  from  Lodowick. 

Itha.  Tis  poisoned,  is  it  not? 

Bar.  No,  no,  and  yet  it  might  be  done  that  way : 
It  is  a  challenge  feigned  from  Lodowick. 

Itha.  Fear  not ;  I  will  so  set  his  heart  afire, 
That  he  shall  verily  think  it  comes  from  him. 

Bar.  I  cannot  choose  but  like  thy  readiness : 
Yet  be  not  rash,  but  do  it  cunningly. 

Itha.  As  I  behave  myself  in  this,  employ  me  hereafter.  380 

Bar.  Away  then.  {Exit  Ithamore. 

So,  now  will  I  go  in  to  Lodowick, 
And,  like  a  cunning  spirit,  feign  some  lie. 
Till  I  have  set  'em  both  at  enmity.  {Exit, 


ACT   III. 

Scene  I.  —  Outside  of  Bellamira's  House, 

Enter  Bellamira,  a  Courtesan,  on  a  balcony. 

Bell.  Since  this  town  was  besieged,  my  gain  grows  cold ; 
And  yet  I  know  my  beauty  doth  not  fail. 
From  Venice  merchants,  and  from  Padua 
Were  wont  to  come  rare-witted  gentlemen, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  65 

Scholars  I  mean,  learned  and  liberal ; 
And  now,  save  Pilia-Borsa,  comes  there  none, 
And  he  is  very  seldom  from  my  house ; 
And  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Pilia-Borsa. 

Hlia.  Hold  thee,  wench,  there's  something  for  thee  to 
spend.  \_Shews  a  bag  of  silver,      10 

Bell.  'Tis  silver.     I  disdain  it. 

Pilia.  Ay,  but  the  Jew  has  gold, 
And  I  will  have  it,  or,  it  shall  go  hard. 

Bell.  Tell  me,  how  cam'st  thou  by  this? 

Pilia.  'Faith,  walking  the  back-lanes,  through  the  gardens, 
I  chanced  to  cast  mine  eye  up  to  the  Jew's  counting-house, 
where  I  saw  some  bags  of  money,  and  in  the  night  I  clam- 
bered up  with  my  hooks,  and,  as  I  was  taking  my  choice,  I 
heard  a  rumbling  in  the  house  ;  so  I  took  only  this,  and  run 
my  way  :  but  here's  the  Jew's  man.  20 

Bell.  Hide  the  bag. 

Enter  Ithamore. 

Pilia.  Look  not  towards  him,  let's  away ;  zoons,  what  a 
looking  thou  keep'st ;  thou'lt  betray's  anon. 

[Exeunt  Bellamira  and  Pilia-Borsa. 

Itha.  O  the  sweetest  face  that  ever  I  beheld  !  I  know  she 
is  a  courtesan  by  her  attire  :  now  would  I  give  a  hundred  of 
the  Jew's  crowns  that  I  had  such  a  concubine. 
Well,  I  have  delivered  llie  c:ballLMige  in  such  sort. 
As  meet  they  will,  and  fighting  die  ;  brave'lport.  \^Exit. 


66  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  III. 

Scene   II.  —  A  Street. 

Enter  Mathias. 

Math,  This' is  the  place  ;  now  Abigail  shall  see 
Whether  Mathias  holds  her  dear  or  no. 

E^iter  LoDOWiCK. 

What,  dares  the  villain  write  in  such  base  terms  ? 

\_Reading  a  letter. 
Lod.  I  did  it;  and  revenge  it  if  thou  dar'st.     \They  fight. 

Enter  Barabas,  above,  on  a  balcony. 

Bar.  O  !  bravely  fought ;  and  yet  they  thrust  not  home. 

Now,  Lodovico  !  now,  Mathias  !  So \_Both  fall. 

So  n®w  they  have  showed  themselves  to  be  tall^  fellows. 

\_Ciries  within.']   Part  'em,  part  'em. 

Bar.  Ay,  part  'em  now  they  are  dead.  Farewell,  fare- 
well. [Exit. 

Enter  Ferneze,  Kjvtherine,  and  Attendants. 

Eern.  What  sight-  is  this  !  — my  Lodowick  slain  !^  lo 

These  arms  of  mine  shall  be  thy  sepulchre. 

Kath.  Who  is  this?  my  son  Mathias  slain  ! 

Eern.  O  Lodowick  !  had'st  thou  perished  by  the  Turk, 
Wretched  Ferneze  might  have  'venged  thy  death. 

Kath.  Thy  son  slew  mine,  and  I'll  revenge  his  death. 

1  Brave. 

2  What  a  sight;  the  article  was  often  omitted;  of.  "  What  night  is  this," 
Julius  Casar,  i,  3. 

3  Here,  and  frequently  in  the  play,  Lodowick  should  be  written  and  pro- 
nounced as  in  Italian,  Lodovico.  The  error  is  probably  due  to  the  copyist 
who  first  transcribed  the  play  for  the  press. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  67 

Fern.  Look,  Katherine,  look  !  —  thy  son  gave  mine  these 
wounds. 

Kath.  O  leave  to  grieve  me,  I  am  grieved  enough. 

Fern.  O  !  that  my  sighs  could  turn  to  lively  breath  ; 
And  these  my  tears  to  blood,  that  he  might  live, 

Kath.  Who  made  them  enemies?  20 

Fern.  I  know  not,  and  that  grieves  me  most  of  all. 

Kath.  My  son  loved  thine. 

Fern.  And  so  did  Lodowick  him. 

Kath.  Lend  me  that  weapon  that  did  kill  my  son. 
And  it  shall  murder  me. 

Fern.  Nay,  madam,  stay ;  that  weapon  was  my  son's, 
And  on  that  rather  should  Ferneze  die. 

Kath.  Hold,  let's  inquire  the  causers  of  their  deaths, 
That  we  may  Venge  their  blood  upon  their  heads. 

Fern.  Then  take  them  up,  and  let  them  be  interred        30 
Within  one  sacred  monument  of  stone  ; 
Upon  which  altar  I  will  offer  up 
My  daily  sacrifice  of  sighs  and  tears, 
And  with  my  prayers  pierce  impartial  ^  heavens, 
Till  they  reveal  the  causers  of  our  smarts. 
Which  forced  their  hands  divide  united  hearts  : 
Come,  Katherine,  our  losses  equal  are. 
Then  of  true  grief  let  us  take  equal  share. 

\_Exeunt  with  the  bodies. 

Scene  III.  —  A  Room  in  Barabas*  House, 

Enter  Ithamore. 

Itha.  Why»  was  there  ever  seen  such  villainy, 
So&eatly  plotted,  and  so  well  performed  ?  "^ 
Both  held  in  hand,"  and  flatly  both  beppiiIeiT? 

1  Unkind.  2  Kept  in  expectancy. 


68       \^  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  hi. 

Enter  Abigail. 

Abig.  Why,  how  now,  Ithamore,  why  laugh'st  thou  so? 

Jtha.  O  mistress,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Abig.  Why,  what  ail'st  thou  ? 

Jtha.  O  my  master  ! 

Abig.  Ha! 
"Jtfia.  O  mistress  !  I  have  the  bravest,  gravest,  secret,  sub- 
tle, bottle-nosed  knave  to  my  master,  that  ever  gentleman 
had.  II 

Abig.  Say,  knave,  why  rail'st  upon  my  father  thus? 

Itha,  O,  my  master  has  the  bravest  policy. 

Abig.  Wherein? 

Jtha.  Why,  know  you  not  ? 

Abig.  Why,  no. 

Jtha.  Know  you  not  of  Matthias'  and  Don  Lodowick's 
disaster  ? 

Abig.  No,  what  was  it?  19 

Jtha.  Why,  the  devil  invented  a  challenge,  my  master 
writ  it,  and  I  carried  it,  first  to  Lodowick,  and  imprimis  to 
Mathias. 

And  then  they  met,  and,  as  the  story  says. 
In  doleful  wise  they  ended  both  their  days. 

Abig.  And  was  my  father  furtherer  of  their  deaths  ? 

Jtha.  Am  I  Ithamore? 

Abig.  Yes. 

Jtha.  So  sure  did  your  father  write,  and  I^carry  the 
challenge. 

Abig.  Well,  Ithamore,  let  me  request  thee  this,  30 

Go  to  the  new-made  nunnery,  and  inquire 
For  any  of  the  friars  of  Saint  Jacques,^ 

1  St.  James. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  69 

/    And  say,  I  pray  them  come  and  speak  with  me. 
^TT  Itha.  I  will,  forsooth,  mistress.  [  Exit. 

Abig.  Hard-hearted  latKef;Tmkind  Barabas  ! 

Was  this  the  pursuit  of  thy  policy  ! 

To  make  me  show  them  favour  severally, 

That  by  my  favour  they  should  both  be  slain? 

Admit  thou  lov'dst  not  Lodowick  for  his  sire, 

Yet  Don  Mathias  ne'er  offended  thee  :  40 

But  thou  wert  set  upon  extreme  revenge. 

Because  the  prior  dispossessed  thee  once. 

And  could'st  not  'venge  it,  but  upon  his  son 

Nor  on  his  son,  but  by  Mathias'  means; 

Nor  on  Mathias,  but  by  murdering  me. 

But  I  perceive  there  is  no  love  on  earth. 

Pity  in  Jews,  or  piety  in  Turks. 

But  here  comes  cursed  Ithamore,  with  the  friar. 

Enter  Ithamore  and  Friar  Jacomo. 

F.  Jac.    Virgo ^  salve. 

Itha.  When  !  ^  duck  you  !  50 

Abig.  Welcome,  grave  friar ;  Ithamore,  begone  ! 

l^Exit  Ithamore. 
Know,  holy  sir,  I  am  bold  to  solicit  thee. 

F.Jac.  Wherein? 

Abig.  To  get. me  be  admitted  for  a  nun. 

F.  Jac.  Why,  Abigail,  it  is  not. yet  long  since 
That  I  did  labour  thy  admission, 
And  then  thou  didst  not  like  that  holy  life. 

Abig.  Then  were  my  thoughts  so  frail  and  unconfirmed. 
And  I  was  chained  to  follies  of  the  world : 
But  now  experience,  purchased  with  grief,  60 

1  Exclamation  of  impatience. 


70  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  hi. 

Has  made  me  see  the  difference  of  things. 
My  sinful  soul,  alas,  hath  paced  too  long 
The  fatal  labyrinth  of  misbelief. 
Far  from  the  sun  that  gives  eternal  life. 

F.Jac.  Who  taught  thee  this  ? 

Abig.  The  abbess  of  the  house, 
Whose  zealous  admonition  I  embrace : 
O,  therefore,  Jacomo,  let  me  be  one, 
Although  unworthy,  of  that  sisterhood. 

F.  Jac.  Abigail,  I  will,  but  see  thou  change  no  more,       70 
For  that  will  be  most  heavy  to  thy  soul. 

Abig.  That  was  my  father's  fault. 

F.Jac,  Thy  father's  !  how? 

Abig,  Nay,  you  shall  pardon  me.     (Aside)  O  Barabas, 
Though  thou  deservest  hardly  at  my  hands. 
Yet  never  shall  these  lips  bewray  thy  life. 

F.  Jac.  Come,  shall  we  go  ? 

Abig.  My  duty  waits  on  you.  \_Exemit. 

Scene  IV.  —  A  Room  in  Barabas'  House. 

Enter  Barabas,  reading  a  letter. 

Bar.  What,  Abigail  become  a  nun  again  ! 
False  and  unkind ;  what,  hast  thou  lost  thy  father  ? 
And  all  unknown,  and  unconstrained  of  me. 
Art  thou  again  got  to  the  nunnery? 
Now  here  she  writes,  and  wills  me  to  repent. 
Repentance  !  Spurca!  what  pretendeth^  this? 
I  fear  she  knows  —  'tis  so  —  of  my  device 
In  Don  Mathias'  and  Lodovico's  deaths  : 

1  Portendeth. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE   JEW   OF  MALTA.  Ji 

If  SO,  'tis  time  that  it  be  seen  into  : 

For  she  that  varies  from  me  in  beUef  lo 

Gives  great  presumption  that  she  loves  me  not ; 

Or  loving,  doth  disKke  of  something  done.  — 

But  who  comes  here  ? 

jEnfer  Ithamore. 

O  Ithamore,  come  near ; 
Come  near,  my  love  ;  come  near,  thy  master's  life, 
My  trusty  servant,  nay,  my  second  self: 
For  T  hrive  now  no  hope  but  even  in  thee, 
And  on  that  hope  my  happiness  is  built. 
'  When  saw'st  thou  Abigail? 

I^/ia.  To-day. 

Bar.  With  whom  ?  20 

I^ka.  A  friar. 

Bar.  A  friar  !  false  villain,  he  hath  done  the  deed. 

If/ia.  How,  sir? 

Bar.  Why,  made  mine  Abigail  a  nun. 

I^/ia.  That's  no  lie,  for  she  sent  me  for  him. 
/       Bar.  O  unhappy  day  ! 
False,  credulous,  inconstant  Abigail ! 
But  let  'me  go  :  and,  Ithamore,  from  hence 
Ne  er  shaM  she  grieve  me  more  with  her  disgrace  ; 
Ne'er  shall  she  live  to  inherit  aught  of  mine,  30 

Be  blest  of  me,  nor  come  within  my  gates, 
But  perish  underneath  my  bitter  curse. 
Like  Cain  by  Adam  for  his  brother's  death. 

I^/ia.  O  master  ! 

Bar.  Ithainore,  entreat  not  for  her,  I  am  moved, 
And  she  is  hateiui  to  my  soui  and  nie ; 
And  'less  thoajKield  to  tnis  mat  1  entreat. 


72  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [act  ill. 

I  cannoJL think  but  that  thou  hat'st  my  life. 

y/ASij^f^o,  I,  master?     Why,  I'll  run  to  some  rock, 

^w  myself  headlong  into  the  sea ;  40 

Wli)[^ J!Jijiaaay thing,  for  your. sweet  ^ake. 

Bar.  O  trusty  Ithamore,  no  servant,  but  my  friend : 
I  here  a^^opt  thee  for  mine  only  heir, 
All  that  I  have  is  thine  when  I  am  dead, 
And  whilst  I  Hve  use  half;   spend  as  myself; 
Here  take  my  keys,  I'll  give  'em  thee  anon : 
Go  buy  thee  garments  :  but  thou  shalt  not  want : 
Only  know  this,  that  thus  thou  art  to  do  : 
But  first  go  fetch  me  in  the  pot  of  rice 

That  for  our  supper  stands  upon  the  fire.  50 

Wigj^ aside) .  I  hold  my  head  my  master's  hungry.    I  go, 
sir.  [Exit. 

^Tffrhus  every  villain  ambles  after  wealth, 
Although  he  ne'er  be  richer  than  in  hope : 
But,  hush^! 

Re-enter  Ithamore  with  the  pot. 

Itha.  Here  'tis,  master. 

Bar.  Well  said,  Ithamore ;  what,  hast  thou  brought 
The  ladle  with  thee  too  ? 

<(^yj^es,  sir,  the  proverb  ^  says  he  that   eats  with   the 
deviTnad  need  of  a  long  spoon.     I   have  brought  you  a 

~^Bar.  Very  well,  Ithamore,  then  now  be  secret ;  60 

And  for  thy  sake,  whom  I  so  dearly  love. 
Now  Shalt  thou  see  the  death  of  Abigail, 
That  thou.may'st  freely  live  to  be  my  heir. 

1  This  proverb  is  found  in  Chaucer's  Squieres   Tale,  in  A  Comedy  of 
Errors,  etc. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  73 

Itha.  Why,  master,  will  you  poison  her  with  a  mess  of 
rice  porridge  ?  that  will  preserve  life,  make  her  round  and 
plump,  and  batten  more  than  you  are  aware. 

Bar.  Ay,  but,  Ithamore,  seest  thou  this? 
It  is  a  precious  powder  that  I  bought 
Of  an  ItaHan,  in  Ancona,  once. 

Whose  operation  is  to  bind,  infect,  70 

And  poison  deeply,  yet  not  appear 
In  forty  hours  after  it  is  ta'en. 

Itha.  How,  master? 

Bar.  Thus,  Ithamore. 
This  even  they  use  in  Malta  here,  —  'tis  called 
Saint  Jacques'  Even,  —  and  then  I  say  they  use 
To  send  their  alms  into  the  nunneries : 
Among  the  rest  bear  this,  and  set  it  there ; 
There's  a  dark  entry  where  they  take  it  in. 
Where  they  must  neither  see  the  messenger,  80 

Nor  make  inquiry  who  hath  sent  it  them. 

Itha.  How  so  ? 

Bar.  Belike  there  is  some  ceremony  in't. 
There,  Ithamore,  must  thou  go  place  this  pot ! 
Stay,  let  me  spice  it  first. 

Itha.  Pray  do,  and  Jet  me  help  y9u,  rpaster.  Pray  let 
me  taste  first. 

Bar.  Pry  thee   do   (Ithamore   tastes)  :   what  say'st  thou 
now? 

Itha.  Troth,  master,  I'm  loth  such  a  pot  of  pottage 
should  be  spoiled.  90 

:;     Bar.  Peace,  Ithamore,  'tis  better  so  than  spared. 
Assure  thyself  thou  shalt  have  broth  by  the  eye,^ 
jJMy  purse,  my  coffer,  and  myself  is  thine. 
1  In  abundance. 


74  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  III. 

Itha.  Well,  master,  I  go. 

Bar.  Stay,  first  let  me  stir  it,  Ithamore. 
As  fatal  be  it  to  her  as  the  draught 
Of  which  great  Alexander  drunk  and  died  : 
And  with  her  let  it  work  like  Borgia's  wine, 
Whereof  his  sire,  the  Pope,  was  poisoned. 
In  few,^  the  blood  of  Hydra,  Lerna's  bane  :  loo 

The  juice  of  hebon,^  and  Cocytus'  breath. 
And  all  the  poisons  of  the  Stygian  pool 
Break  from  the  fiery  kingdom ;  and  in  this 
Vomit  your  venom  and  invenom  her 
That  Hke  a  fiend  hath  left  her  father  thus. 

Itha.  {aside).  What  a  blessing  has  he  given't !  was  ever 
pot  of  rice  porridge  so  sauced  !     What  shall  I  do  with  it? 

Bar.  O,  my  sweet  Ithamore,  go  set  it  down. 
And  come  again  so  soon  as  thou  hast  done. 
For  I  have  other  business  for  thee.  no 

Itha.  Here's  a  drench  to  poison  a  whole  stable  of  Flan- 
ders mares  :  I'll  carry't  to  the  nuns  with  a  powder. 

Bar.  And  the  horse  pestilence  to  boot ;  away  ! 

Itha.  I  am  gone. 
Pay  me  my  wages,  for  my  work  is  done.  S^Exit. 

Bar.  TMi  p^y  ii^pp  with_fl.Y^^p[^^^^^^?  Ithamore.        {Exit. 

Scene  V.  —  The  Senate-house. 
Enter  Ferneze,  Martin  del  Bosco,  Knights,  and  Basso, 

Fern.  Welcome,  great  basso  ;  how  fares  Calymath  ? 
What  wind  drives  you  thus  into  Malta-road  ? 

Bas.  The  wind  that  bloweth  all  the  world  besides,  — 
Desire  of  gold. 

1  In  short.  2  The  juice  of  ebony,  regarded  as  a  deadly  poison. 


SCENE  V.J  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  75 

Fern.  Desire  of  gold,  great  sir? 
That's  to  be  gotten  in  the  Western  Ind : 
In  Malta  are  no  golden  minerals. 

Bas.  To  you  of  Malta  thus  saith  Calymath : 
The  time  you  took  for  respite  is  at  hand, 
For  the  performance  of  your  promise  passed,  10 

And  for  the  tribute-money  I  am  sent. 

Fern,  Basso,  in  brief,  'shalt  have  no  tribute  here, 
Nor  shall  the  heathens  live  upon  our  spoil : 
First  will  we  raze  the  city  walls  ourselves. 
Lay  waste  the  island,  hew  the  temples  down, 
And,  shipping  off  our  goods  to  Sicily, 
Open  an  entrance  for  the  wasteful  sea, 
Whose  billows  beating  the  resistless  ^  banks, 
Shall  overflow  it  with  their  refluence. 

Bas.  Well,  Governor,  since  thou  hast  broke  the  league   20 
By  flat  denial  of  the  promised  tribute. 
Talk  not  of  razing  down  your  city  walls. 
You  shall  not  need  trouble  yourselves  so  far. 
For  Selim  Calymath  shall  come  himself, 
And  with  brass  bullets  batter  down  your  towers, 
And  turn  proud  Malta  to  a  wilderness 
For  these  intolerable  wrongs  of  yours ; 
And  so  farewell. 

Fern.  Farewell :  \^Exit  Basso. 

And  now,  ye  men  of  Malta,  look  about,  30 

And  let's  provide  to  welcome  Calymath  : 
Close  your  portcullis,  charge  your  basilisks,^ 
And  as  you  profitably  take  up  arms. 
So  now  courageously  encounter  them  ; 
For  by  this  answer,  broken  is  the  league, 

1  Unable  to  resist.  2  Immense  cannon. 


76  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  ill. 

And  naught  is  to  be  looked  for  now  but  wars, 

And  naught  to  us  more  welcome  is  than  wars.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  VI.  —  A  Room  in  a  Convent, 
Enter  Friar  Jacomo  and  Friar  Barnardine. 

F.  Jac.  O,  brother,  brother,  all  the  nuns  are  sick, 
And  physic  will  not  help  them  :  they  must  die. 

F.  Barn.  The  abbess  sent  for  me  to  be  confessed : 
O,  what  a  sad  confession  will  there  be  ! 

F.  Jac.  And  so  did  fair  Maria  send  for  me  : 
I'll  to  her  lodging  :  hereabouts  she  lies.  \^Exit, 

Enter  Abigail. 

F.  Barn.  What,  all  dead,  save  only  Abigail  ? 

Abig.  And  I  shall  die  too,  for  I  feel  death  coming. 
Where  is  the  friar  that  conversed  with  me  ?  ' 

F.  Barn.  O,  he  is  gone  to  see  the  other  nuns.  lo 

Abig.  I  sent  for  him,  but  seeing  you  are  come. 
Be  you  my  ghostly  father :  and  first  know. 
That  in  this  house  I  lived  religiously. 
Chaste,  and  devout,  much  sorrowing  for  my  sins ; 
But  ere  I  came 

F.  Barn.  What  then? 

Abig.  I  did  offend  high  Heaven  so  grievously, 
As  I  am  almost  desperate  for  my  sins : 
And  one  offence  torments  me  more  than  all. 
You  knew  Mathias  and  Don  Lodowick?  20 

F.  Barn.  Yes,  what  of  them  ? 

Abig.  My  father  did  contract  me  to  'em  both : 
First  to  Don  Lodowick ;  him  I  never  loved ; 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  77 

Mathias  was  the  man  that  I  held  dear, 
And  for  his  sake  did  I  become  a  nun. 

F.  Barn.  So,  say  how  was  their  end  ? 

Abig.  Both  jealous  of  my  love,  envied  ^  each  other. 
And  by  my  father's  practice,^  which  is  there 
Set  down  at  large,  the  gallants  were  both  slain. 

[  Gives  a  written  paper. 

F.  Barn.  O  monstrous  villainy  !  30 

Abig.  To  work  my  peace,  this  I  confess  to  thee ; 
Reveal  it  not,  for  then  my  father  dies. 

F.  Barn.  Know  that  confession  must  not  be  revealed, 
The  canon  law  forbids  it,  and  the  priest 
That  makes  it  known,  being  degraded  first. 
Shall  be  condemned,  and  then  sent  to  the  fire. 

Abig.  So  I  have  heard ;  pray,  therefore  keep  it  close. 
Death  seizeth  on  my  heart :  ah  gentle  friar, 
Convert  my  father  that  he  may  be  saved, 
And  witness  that  I  die  a  Christian.  [^Dies.      40 

F.  Barn.  Ay,  and  a  virgin  too  ;    that  grieves  me  most : 
But  I  must  to  the  Jew  and  exclaim  on  him, 
And  make  him  stand  in  fear  of  me. 

Re-enter  Friar  Jacomo. 

F.Jac.  O  brother,  all  the  nuns  are  dead,  let's  bury  them. 
F.  Barn.  First  help  to  bury  this,  then  go  with  me 
And  help  me  to  exclaim  against  the  Jew. 
F.Jac.  Why,  what  has  he  done? 
F.  Barn.  A  thing  that  makes  me  tremble  to  unfold. 
F.  Jac.  What,  has  he  crucified  a  child  ?  ^ 

1  Hated ;  the  accent  is  on  the  second  syllable.  2  Artifice. 

3  The  Jews  were  often  accused  of  this  crime,  especially  when  the  king 
was  in  need  of  money. 


78                                    THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  IV. 

F.  Barn.  No,  but   a   worse  thing :  'twas  told  to  me  in 

shrift,  50 
Thou  know'st  'tis  death  an  if  it  be  revealed. 

Come,  let's  away.  \Exeunt, 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Street. 
Enter  Barabas  and  Ithamore.     Bells  within. 

Bar.  There  is  no  music  to  ^  a  Christian's  knell : 
How  sweet  the  bells  ring  now  the  nuns  are  dead, 
That  sound  at  other  times  like  tinker's  pans  I 
I  was  afraid  the  poison  had  not  wrought ; 
Or  though  it  wrought,  it  would  have  done  no  good : 
Now  all  are  dead,  not  one  remains  alive. 

Itha.  That's  brave,  master,  but  think  you  it  will  not  be 
known  ? 

Bar.  How  can  it,  if  we  two  be  secret  ? 

Itha.  For  my  part  fear  you  not. 

Bar.  I'd  cut  thy  throat  if  I  did.  10 

ltha\  And  reason  too. 
But  here's  a  royal  monastery  hard  by ; 
Good  master^  let  me  poison  all  the  monks.     - 

Bar.  Thou  shalt  not  need,  for  now  the  nuns  are  dead 
They'll  die  with  grief 

Itha.  Do  you  not  sorrow  for  your  daughter's  death? 

Bar.   No,  but  T  grieve  Ijecause  she  lived  so  long. 
An  Hebrew  born,  and  would  become  a  Christian ! 
Cazzo,  diabolo. 

1  Equal  to. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  79 

Enter  Friar  Jacomo  and  Friar  Barnardine. 

Itha.  Look,  look,  master,  here  come  two  religious  cater- 
pillars. '  21 
Bar.  I  smelt  'em  ere  they  came. 
Itha.  God-a-mercy,  nose  !  come,  let's  be  gone. 
F.  Barn.  Stay,  wicked  Jew,  repent,  I  say,  and  stay.    - 
F.  Jac,  Thou  hast  offended,  therefore  must  be  damned. 
Bar.  I  fear  they  know  we  sent  the  poisoned  broth. 
Itha.  And  so  do  I,  master ;  therefore  speak  'em  fair. 

F.  Barn.  Barabas,  thou  hast 

F.  Jac.  Ay,  that  thou  hast 

Bar.  True,  I  have  money,  what  though  I  have?  30 

F.  Barn.  Thou  art  a 

F.  Jac.  Ay,  that  thou  art,  a 

Bar.  What  needs  all  this  ?     I  know  I  am  a  Jew. 

F.  Barn.  Thy  daughter 

F.  Jac.  Ay,  thy  daughter 

Bar.  O  speak  not  of  her  !  then  I  die  with  grief. 

F.  Barn.  Remember  that 

F.  Jac.  Ay,  remember  that 


Bar.  I  must  needs  say  that  I  have  been  a  great  usurer. 

F.  Barn.  Thou  hast  committed 40 

Bar.  Fornication  —  but  that  was  in  another  country ; 
And  besides,  the  wench  is  dead. 

F.  Barn.  Ay,  but,  Barabas, 
Remember  Mathias  and  Don  Lodowick. 

Bar.  Why,  what  of  them  ? 

F.  Barn.  I  will  not  say  that  by  a  forged  challenge  they 
met. 

Bar.  {aside) .  She  has  confest,  and  we  are  both  undone, 

MfT;:;^;;;;rmmatf^  \   but   Lmi^f  rhfi^^tllllle.^  "* 


8o  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  iv. 

0  holy  friars,  the  burthen  of  my  sins 

Lie  heavy  on  my  soul ;  then  pray  you  tell  me,  50 

Is't  not  too  late  now  to  turn  Christian? 

1  have  beeft  zealous  in  the  Jewish  faith. 
Hard-hearted  to  the  poor,  a  covetous  wretch. 
That  would  for  lucre's  sake  have  sold  my  soul. 
A  hundred  for  a  hundred  I  have  ta'en ; 

And  now  for  store  of  wealth  may  I  compare 

With  all  the  Jews  of  Malta ;  but  what  is  wealth  ? 

I  am  a  Jew,  and  therefore  am  I  lost. 

Would  penance  serve  to  atone  for  this  my  sin, 

I  could  afford  to  whip  myself  to  death 60 

Itha.  And  so  could  I ;  but  penance  will  not  serve. 

Bar.  To  fast,  to  pray,  and  wear  a  shirt  of  hair. 
And  on  my  knees  creep  to  Jerusalem. 
Cellars  of  wine,  and  sollars  ^  full  of  wheat. 
Warehouses  stuft  with  spices  and  with  drugs, 
Whole  chests  of  gold,  in  bullion,  and  in  coin, 
Besides  I  know  not  how  much  weight  in  pearl, 
Orient  and  round,  have  I  within  my  house ; 
At  Alexandria,  merchandise  unsold  :  ^ 

But  yesterday  two  ships  went  from  this  town,  70 

Their  voyage  will  be  worth  ten  thousand  crowns. 
In  Florence,  Venice,  Antwerp,  London,  Seville, 
Frankfort,  Lubeck,  Moscow,  and  where  not. 
Have  I  debts  owing ;  and  in  most  of  these. 
Great  sums  of  money  lying  in  the  banco ; 
All  this  I'll  give  to  some  religious  house. 
So  I  may  be  baptized,  and  live  therein. 

1  Attics,  or  lofts  (Latin  solarium)  ;  still  used  in  some  parts  of  England, 
and  in  legal  documents. 

2  Dyce  suggests  untold. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  8 1 

F.  Jac.  O  good  Barabas,  come  to  our  house. 

F.  Barn.  O  no,  good  Barabas,  come  to  our  house ; 
And,  Barabas,  you  know 80 

Bar.  I  know  that  I  have  highly  sinned. 
You  shall  convert  me,  you  shall  have  all  my  wealth. 

F.Jac.  O  Barabas,  their  laws  are  strict. 

Bar.  I  know  they  are,  and  I  will  be  with  you. 

F.  Barn.  They  wear  no  shirts,  and  they  go  barefoot  too. 

Bar.  {to  Barn.).  Then  'tis  not  for  me  ;  and  I  am  resolved 
You  shall  confess  me,  and  have  all  my  goods. 

F.Jac.  Good  Barabas,  come  to  me. 

Bar.  You  see  I  answer  him,  and  yet  he  stays ; 
Rid  him  away,  and  go  you  home  with  me.  90 

F.Jac.  I'll  be  with  you  to-night. 

Bar.  Come  to  my  house  at  one  o'clock  this  night. 

F.Jac.  You  hear  your  answer,  and  you  may  be  gone. 

F.  Barn.  Why,  go  get  you  away. 

F.  Jac.  I  will  not  go  for  thee. 

F.  Barn.  Not !  then  I'll  make  thee  go. 

F.Jac.  How,  dost  call  me  rogue?  \They fight. 

Itha.  Part  'em,  master,  part  'em. 

Bar.  This  is  mere  frailty,  brethren ;  be  content. 
{Aside  to  Barn.)  Friar  Barnardine,  go  you  with  Ithamore  :  100 
You  know  my  mind,  let  me  alone  with  him. 

F.  Jac.  Why  does  he  go  to  thy  house  ?  let  him  be  gone. 

Bar.  I'll  give  him  something  and  so  stop  his  mouth. 

\^Exit  Ithamore  with  Friar  Barnardine. 
I  never  heard  of  any  man  but  he 
Maligned  the  order  of  the  Jacobins  : 
But  do  you  think  that  I  believe  his  words  ? 
Why,  brother,  you  converted  Abigail ; 
And  I  am  bound  in  charity  to  requite  it, 


82  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  IV. 

And  SO  I  will.     O  Jacomo,  fail  not,  but  come. 

F.Jac.  But,  Barabas,  who  shall  be  your  godfathers?      no 
For  presently  you  shall  be  shrived. 

Bar.  Marry,  the  Turk  ^  shall  be  one  of  my  godfathers, 
But  not  a  word  to  any  of  your  covent.^ 

F.Jac.  I  warrant  thee,  Barabas.  \_ExiL 

Bar.  So,  now  the  fear  is  past,  and  I  am  safe. 
For  he  that  shrived  her  is  within  my  house ; 
What  if  I  murdered  him  ere  Jacomo  comes  ? 
Now  I  have  such  a  plot  for  both  their  lives 
As  never  Jew  nor  Christian  knew  the  like  : 
One  turned  my  daughter,  therefore  he  shall  die ;  120 

The  other  knows  enough  to  have  my  life, 
Therefore  'tis  not  requisite  he  should  live. 
But  are  not  both  these  wise  men  to  suppose 
That  I  will  leave  my  house,  my  goods,  and  all. 
To  fast  and  be  well  whipt?     Til  none  of  that. 
Now,  Friar  Barnardine,  I  come  to  you, 
I'll  feast  you,  lodge  you,  give  you  fair  words. 
And  after  that ^[an^jn^rustj^^Turk  — 
No  more,  but  so  :  it  must  and  shall  Be  done.  \_Exit. 


Scene  II.  —  A  Room  in  Barabas'  House. 
Enter  Barabas  and  Ithamore. 

Bar.  Ithamore,  tell  me,  is  the  friar  asleep  ? 

Itha.  Yes ;  and  I  know  not  what  the  reason  is, 
Do  what  I  can  he  will  not  strip  himself, 
Nor  go  to  bed,  but  sleeps  in  his  own  clothes ; 
I  fear  me  he  mistrusts  what  we  intend. 

1  Ithamore.  2  Convent ;  this  form  still  appears  in  Covent  Garden. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  S^ 

Bar.  No,  'tis  an  order  which  the  friars  use  : 
Yet,  if  he  knew  our  meanings,  could  he  'scape  ? 

Itha.  No,  none  can  hear  him,  cry  he  ne'er  so  loud. 

Bar.  Why,  true,  therefore  did  I  place  him  there  : 
The  other  chambers  open  towards  the  street.  lo 

Itha.  You  loiter,  master ;  wherefore  stay  we  thus  ? 
X)  how  I  long  to  see  him  shake  his  heels. 

Bar.  Come  on,  sirrah. 
Off  with  your  girdle,  make  a  handsome  noose. 

[Ithamore  takes  off  his  girdle  and  ties  a  noose  in  it. 
Friar,  awake  !       \They  put  the  noose  round  the  Friar's  neck. 

F.  Barn.  What,  do  you  mean  to  strangle  me  ? 

Itha.  Yes,  'cause  you  use  to  confess. 

Bar.  Blame  not  us  but  the  proverb,  Confess  and  be 
hanged ;  pull  hard  ! 

F.  Barn.  What,  will  you  have  my  life  ?  20 

Bar.  Pull  hard,  I  say;  you  would  have  had  my  goods. 

Itha.  Ay,  and  our  lives  too,  therefore  pull  amain. 

\They  strangle  him. 
'Tis  neatly  done,  sir,  here's  no  print  at  all. 

Bar.  Then  it  is  as  it  should  be  ;  take  him  up. 

Itha.  Nay,  master,  be  ruled  by  me  a  little.  {Stands  the 
body  upright  against  the  wall  and  puts  a  staff  in  its  hand.)  So, 
let  tmnlean  upon  his  staff;  excellent !  he  stands  as  if  he  were 
hep[^ing  of  hacon.^  *~ 

Bar.  Who  would  not  think  but  that  this  friar  lived? 
What  time  o'  night  is't  now,  sweet  Ithamore  ?  30 

Itha.  Towards  one.  "^ 

Bar.  Then  will  not  Jacomo  be  long  from  hence. 

\^Exeunt. 

1  The  body  was  stood  up  outside  of  the  house. 


84  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [act  iv. 

Scene  III.  —  Outside  Barabas'  House. 

Enter  Friar  Jacomo. 

F.  Jac.  This  is  the  hour  wherein  I  shall  proceed/ 
O  happy  hour  wherein  I  shall  convert 
An  infidel,  and  bring  his  gold  into  our  treasury  !  ^ 
But  soft,  is  not  this  Barnardine  ?  it  is  ; 
And,  understanding  I  should  come  this  way. 
Stands  here  a  purpose,  meaning  me  some  wrong, 
And  intercept  my  going  to  the  Jew.  — 
Barnardine  ! 

Wilt  thou  not  speak  ?  thou  think'st  I  see  thee  not ; 
Away,  I'd  wish  thee,  and  let  me.  go  by  :  lo 

No,  wilt  thou  not?  nay,  then,  I'll  force  my  way ; 
And  see,  a  staff  stands  ready  for  the  purpose : 
As  thou  lik'st  that,  stop  me  another  time. 

\Takes  the  staff  and  strikes  the  body,  which  falls  down. 

Enter  Barabas  and  Ithamore. 

Bar.  Why,  how  now,  Jacomo,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

F.Jac.  Why,  stricken  him  that  would  have  struck  at  me. 

Bar.  Who  is  it?  Barnardine?  now  out,  alas,  he's  slain  ! 

Itha.  Ay,  master,  he's  slain ;  look  how  his  brains  drop 
out  on's  ^  nose. 

F.Jac.  Good  sirs,  I  have  done't,  but  nobody  knows  it 
but  you  two  —  I  may  escape.  20 

Bar,  So  might  my  man  and  I  hang  with  you  for  company. 

1  Succeed. 

2  BuUen  rearranges  these  lines  thus : 

"  O  happy  hour 
Wherein  I  shall  convert  an  infidel, 
And  bring  his  gold  into  our  treasury." 
8  Of  his. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE-  JEW  OF   MALTA.  85 

Itha.  No,  let  us  bear  him  to  the  magistrates. 

F.  Jac.  Good  Barabas,  let  me  go. 

Bar.  No,  pardon  me ;  the  law  must  have  its  course. 
I  must  be  forced  to  give  in  evidence, 
That  being  importuned  by  this  Barnardine 
To  be  a  Christian,  I  shut  him  out. 
And  there  he  sat :  now  I,  to  keep  my  word, 
And  give  miy  goods  and  substance  to  your  house. 
Was  up  thus  early  ;  with  intent  to  go  30 

Unto  your  friary,  because  you  stayed. 

Itha.  Fie  upon  'em,  master ;  will  you  turn  Christian  when 
holy  friars  turn  devils  and  murder  one  another? 

Bar.  No,  for  this  example  I'll  remain  a  Jew  : 
Heaven  bless  me  !  what,  a  friar  a  murderer  ? 
When-shall  you  see  a  Jew  commit  the  Hke  ? 

Itha.  Why,  a  Turk  could  ha'  done  no  more. 

Bar.  To-morrow  is  the  sessions  ;  you  shall'  to  it. 
Come,  Ithamore.  let's  help  to  take  him  hence. 

F.Jac.  Villains,  I  am  a  sacred  pLi^on  ;  touch  me  not.    40 

Bar.  The  law  shall  touch  you,  we'll  but  lead  you,  we  : 
'Las,  I  could  weep  at  your  calamity  ! 
Take  in  the  staff  too,  for  that  must  be  shown  : 
Law  wills  that  each  particular  be  known.  \_Exeunt 

Scene  IV.  —  A    Veranda  of  Bellamira's.  House. 

Enter  Bell.\mira  and  Pilia-Borsa. 

Bell.  PiHa-Borsa,  did'st  thou  meet  with  Ithamore  ? 

Pilia.  I  did. 

Bell.  And  did'st  thou  deliver  my  letter? 

Pilia.  I  did. 

Bell.  And  what  think'st  thou  ?  will  he  come  ? 


S6  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  IV. 

Pi/ia.  I  think  so,  but  yet  I  cannot  tell ;  for  at  the  read- 
ing of  the  letter  he  looked  like  a  man  of  another  world. 

Be//.  Why  so? 

Pi/ia.  That  such  a  base  slave  as  he  should  be  saluted  by 
such  a  tall^  man  as  I  am,  from  such  a  beautiful  dame  as  you. 

Be//.  And  what  said  he?  u 

Pi/ia.  Not  a  wise  word,  only  gave  me  a  nod,  as  who 
should  say,  "  Is  it  even  so  ?  "  and  so  I  left  himj  being  driven 
to  a  non-plus  at  the  critical  aspect  of  my  terrible  countenance. 

Be//.  And  where  didst  meet  him? 

Pi/ia.  Upon  mine  own  freehold,  within  forty  feet  of  the 
gallows,  conning  his  neck-verse,^  I  take  it,  looking  of*^  a 
friar's  execution,  whom  I  saluted  with  an  old  hempen  prov- 
erb, Hodie  Hbi,  eras  mihij  and  so  I  left  him  to  the  mercy  of 
the  hangman :  but  the  exercise  ^  being  done,  see  where  he 
comes.*  21 

Enter  Ithamore. 

I/ha.  I  never  knew  a  man  take  his  death  so  patiently  as 
this  friar ;  he  was  ready  to  leap  off  ere  the  halter  was  about 
his  neck ;  and  when  the  hangman  had  put  on  his  hempen 
tippet,  he  made  such  haste  to  his  prayers,  as  if  he  had  had 
another  cure  to  serve.  Well,  go  whither  he  will,  I'll  be  none 
of  his  followers  in  haste  :  and,  now  I  think  on't,  going  to  the 
execution,  a  fellow  met  me  with  a  muschatoes^  like  a  raven's 
wing,  and  a  dagger  with  a  hilt  like  a  warming-pan,  and  he 
gave  me  a  letter  from  one  Madam  Bellamira,  saluting  me  30 
in  such  sort  as  if  he  had  meant  to  make  clean  my  boots  with 

1  Brave. 

2  The  "  neck-verse  "  which  criminals  had  to  read  to  secure  the  benefit 
of  the  clergy,  was  usually  Psalm  li,  i. 

8  On.  5  Cf.  Richard  III,  iii,  2. 

*  Sermon.  6  Mustachios. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  87 

his  lips ;  the  effect  was,  that  I  should  come  to  her  house.  I 
wonder  what  the  reason  is ;  it  may  be  she  sees  more  in  me 
than  I  can  find  in  myself :  for  she  writes  further,  that  she 
loves  me  ever  since  she  saw  me,  and  who  would  not  requite 
such  love  ?  Here's  her  house,  and  here  she  comes,  and  now 
would  I  were  gone ;  I  am  not  worthy  to  look  upon  her. 

Pilia.  This  is  the  gentleman  you  writ  to. 

Uhn  (^HMtdfi),  rTentleman  !  he  flouts  nie  j  what  gentry  can 
be  in  a  poor  Turk  of  tenpence?^     I'll  be  gone.  40 

Bell.  Is't  not  a  sweet-faced  youth,  Pilia? 

Itha.  {aside).  Again,  "sweet  youth  !"  —  Did  not  you,  sir, 
bring  the  sweet  youth  a  letter  ? 

Pilia.  I  did,  sir,  and  from  this  gentlewoman,  who,  as 
myself,  and  the  rest  of  the  family,  stand  or  fall  at  your 
service. 

Bell.  Though  woman's  modesty  should  hale  me  back,  I 
can  withhold  no  longer ;  welcome,  sweet  love. 

Itha.  {aside) .  Now  am  I  clean,  or  rather  foully  out  of  the 
way.  50 

Bell. '  Whither  so  soon  ? 
^T'TMo)  (asidc\^  I'll  go  steal  some  money  from  my  master 
to  make  me  hajidsomc.  —  Pray  pardon  me,  I   must  go  and 
see  a  ship  discharged. 

Bell.  Canst  thou  be  so  unkind  to  leave  me  thus  ? 

Pilia.  An  ye  did  but  know  how  she  loves  you,  sir  ! 

Itha.  N-^y,  T  cs^x^'  not  hnw  much  she  loves  me  —  Sweet 
Bellamira.  would  I  had  mv  master's  w^aiCh  fay  thy  ^ak<^  ! 

Pilia.  Ar>H  ynn  rgn  hivt  itj  nir;  Bin  if  ynn  please.  59 

Itha.  If  'twere  above  ground,  I  could  and  would  have  it ; 
but  he"  hides  3nd  buries  it  up^  as  partridges  do  their  eggs, 
under  the  earth. 

1  A  contemptuous  term,  common  at  that  time. 


88  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  IV. 

Pilia.  And  is't  not  possible  to  find  it  out? 

Itha.  By  no  means  possible. 

Bell,  {aside  to  Pilia.).  What  shall  we  do  with  this  base 
villain  then? 

Pilia.  {aside  to  Bell.).  Let  me  alone;  do  you  but  speak 
him  fair.  — 

But,  sir,  you  know  some  secrets  of  the  Jew, 
Which,  if  they  were  revealed,  would  do  him  harm.  ^o 

Itha.  Ay,  and  such  as  —  Go  to,  no  more  !  I'll  make  him 
send  me  half  he  has,  and  glad  h'^' ''t><l*Ip?5 " S6  too .  I'll  write 
untoJiimj  we'll  have  money  straight. 

Pilia.  Send  for  a  hundred  crowns  at  least. 

Itha.  Ten  hundred  thousand  crowns.  (  Writing)  "  Master 
Barabas." 

Pilia.  Write  not  so  submissively,  but  threatening  him. 

Itha.  {writing) .  "  Sirrah,  Barabas,  send  me  a  hundred 
crowns." 

Pilia.  Put  in  two  hundred  at  least.  80 

Itha.  {writing).  "  I  charge  thee  send  me  three  hundred  by 
this  bearer,  and  this  shall  be  your  warrant :  if  you  do  not  — 
no  more,  but  so." 

Pilia.  Tell  him  you  will  confess. 

Itha.  (a/r/V/«o-) ."  Otherwise  I'll  confess  all."  —  Vanish, 
and  return  in  a  twinkle. 

Pilia.  Let  me  alone ;  I'll  use  him  in  his  kind. 

\_Exit  PiLL^-BoRSA  with  the  letter. 

Itha.  Hang  him,  Jew  ! 

Bell.  Now,  gentle  Ithamore, 
Where  are  my  maids  ?  provide  a  running  ^  banquet ;  90 

Send  to  the  merchant,  bid  him  bring  me  silks, 
Shall  Ithamore,  my  love,  go  in  such  rags? 
1  Hasty. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  89 

Itha.  And  bid  the  jeweller  come  hither  too. 

Bell.  I  have  no  husband,  sweet ;  I'll  marry  thee. 

Itha.  Content :  but  we  will  leave  this  paltry  land, 
And  sail  from  hence  to  Greece,  to  lovely  Greece. 
I'll  be  thy  Jason,  thou  my  golden  fleece ; 
Where  painted  carpets  o'er  the  meads  are  hurled. 
And  Bacchus'  vineyards  overspread  the  world ; 
Where  woods  and  forests  go  in  goodly  green,  100 

I'll  be  Adonis,  thou  shalt  be  Love's  Queen. 
The  meads,  the  orchards,  and  the  primrose-lanes. 
Instead  of  sedge  and  reed,  bear  sugar-canes  : 
Thou  in  those  groves,  by  Dis  above,^ 
Shalt  live  with  me  and  be  my  love.^ 

Bell.  Whither  will  I  not  go  with  gentle  Ithamore  ? 

Re-enter  Pilia-Borsa. 

Itha.  How  now?  hast  thou  the  gold? 

Pilia.  Yes. 

Itha.  But  came  it  freely?  did  the  cow  give  down  her  milk 
freely?  no 

Pilia.  At  reading  of  the  letter,  he  stared  and  stamped  and 
turned  aside.  I  took  him  by  the  beard,  and  looked  upon 
him  thus  ;  told  him  he  were  best  to  send  it ;  then  he  hugged 
and  embraced  me. 

Itha.  Rather  for  fear  than  love. 

Pilia.  JThen,  like  a  Jew,  he  laughed  and  jeered,  and  told 
me  he  loved  melor  yoiir  sakfe,  atRTsald  What'^tCSillliful  ser- 
vant you  had  been. 

1  This  blunder  is  intentionally  made. 

2  Marlowe's  well-known  lyric,  The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  his  Love, 
begins,  <<  Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 

And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dales  and  fields, 
Woods  or  steepy  mountains,  yields." 


90  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  iv. 

Itha.  The  more  villain  he  to  keep  me  thus ;  here's 
goodly  'parel,  is  there  not  ?  120 

Pilia.  To  conclude,  he  gave  me  ten  crowns. 

[  Gives  the  money  to  Ithamore. 

Itha.  But  ten?  Til  not  leave  him  worth  a  grey  groat. 
Give  me  a  ream  ^  of  p^er ;  we'll  have  a  kingdom  of  gold 
for't. 

Pilia.  Write  for  five  hundred  crowns. 

Itha.  {writing) .  "  Sirrah,  Jew,  as  you  love  your  life  send 
me  five  hundred  crowns,  and  give  the  bearer  one  hundred."  — 
Tell  him  I  must  have't. 

Pilia.  I  warrant  your  worship  shall  have't. 

Itha.  And  if  he  ask  why  I  demand  so  much,  tell  him  I 
scorn  to  write  a  line  under  a  hundred  crowns.  131 

Pilia.  You'd  make  a  rich  poet,  sir.     I  am  gone.      \_Exit. 

Itha.  Take  thou  the  money ;  spend  it  for  my  sake. 

Bell.  'Tis  not  thy  money,  but  thyself  I  weigh ; 
Thus  Bellamira  esteems  of  gold.  \_Throws  it  aside. 

But  thus  of  thee.  \Kisses  him. 

Itha.  That  kiss  again  !  she  runs  division  ^  of  my  lips. 
What  an  eye  she  casts  on  me  !     It  twinkles  hke  a  star. 

Bell.  Come,  my  dear  love,  let's  in  !  \_Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  —  A  Room  in  Barabas'  House. 

Enter  Barabas,  reading  a  letter. 

Bar.  "  Barabas,  send  me  thyee  hundred  crowns."  — 
Plain  Barabas  !  ^  that  wicked  courjesan  ! 

1  A  jDlay  on  the  words  realm  and  kingdom  ;  realm  was  often  written  and 
pronounced  ream. 

2  A  musical  term.  "  Divisions  for  the  voice  are  intended  to  be  sung  in 
one  breath  to  one  syllable.  The  performance  of  this  style  of  music  is  called 
running  a  division."  —  Stainer  and  Barrett :  Diet.  o/Mtisical  Terms, 


SCENE  v.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  9I 

He  was  nat^wojit  to  call  me  Barabas. 

"  Or  else  I  will  confess  :  "  ay,  there  it  goes  : 

But,  if  I  get  him,  coupe  de  gorge  for  that. 

He  sent  a  shaggy  tattered  staring  slave, 

That  when  he  speaks  draws  out  his  grisly  beard, 

And  winds  it  twice  or  thrice  about  his  ear ; 

Whose  face  has  been  a  grindstone  for  men's  swords ;  ^ 

His  hands  are  hacked,  some  fingers  cut  quite  off;  10 

Who,  when  he  speaks,  grunts  like  a  hog,  and  looks 

Like  one  that  is  employed  in  catzerie  ^ 

And  crossbiting^  — 

And  I  by  him  must  send  three  hundred  crowns  ! 

Well,  my  hope  is,  he  will  not  stay  there  still ; 

And  when  he  comes  :  O,  that  he  were  but  here  ! 

Enter  Pilia-Borsa. 

Pilia,  Jew,  I  must  have  more  gold. 

Bar.  Why,  want'st  thou  any  of  thy  tale  ?  * 

Pilia.  No ;  but  three  hundred  will  not  serve  his  turn. 

Bar.  Not  serve  his  turn,  sir?  20 

Pilia.  No,  sir ;  and,  therefore,  I  must  have  five  hundred 
more. 

Bar.  I'll  rather 

Pilia.  O  good  words,  sir,  and  send  it  you  were  best !  see, 
there's  his  letter.  [  Gives  letter. 

Bar.  Might  he  not  as  well  come  as  send  ?  pray  bid  him 
come  and  fetch  it;  what  he  writes  for  you,  ye  shall  have 
straight. 

Pilia.  Ay,  and  the  rest  too,  or  else 

Bar.  {aside) .  I  must  make  this  villain  away.  30 

1  Cf.  Arden  of  Feversham.  8  Swindling. 

2  Knavery.  *  Reckoning. 


92  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  IV. 

Please  you  dine  with  me,  sir ;  —  {aside)  and  you  shall  be 
most  heartily  poisoned. 

Filia.  No,  God-a-mercy.     Shall  I  have  these  crowns? 

Bar.  I  cannot  do  it,  I  have  lost  my  keys. 

Fiiia.  O,  if  that  be  all,  I  can  pick  ope  your  locks. 

Bar.  Or  climb  up  to  my  counting-house  window :  you 
know  my  meaning. 

Filia.  I  know  enough,  and  therefore  talk  not  to  me  of 
your  counting-house.  The  gold  !  or  know,  Jew,  it  is  in  my 
power  to  hang  thee.  40 

Ba^^aside^  1  am  betrayed.  — 
'Tis  UQtJbcOimdred  crowns  that  I  esteem, 
I  am  not  moved  at  that :  this  angers  me, 
I  That  he,  who  knows  I  love  him  as  myself, 
(Should  write  in  this  imperious  vein.     Why,  sir, 
^ou  know  I  have  no  child,  and  unto  whom 
>hould  I  leave  all  but  unto  Ithamore  ? 

Filia.  Here's  many  words,  but  no  crowns  :  the  crowns  ! 

Bar.  Commend  me  to  him,  sir,  most  humbly, 
And  unto  your  good  mistress,  as  unknown.  50 

Filia.  Speak,  shall  Lhave  'em,  sir? 

Bar.  Sir,  here  they  are. —  \_Gives  money. 

{Aside)  O,  that  I  should  part  with  so  much  gold  ! 

Hexe,..take  'em,  fellow,  with  as  good  a  will 

{Aside)  A^  I  would ^  see  thee  hanged ;    O,  love  stops  my 

)reat:h  -^ 
Never  man  servant  loved  as  I  do  Ithamore  ! 

Filia.  I  know  it,  sir. 

Bar.  Pray,  when,  sir,  shall  I  see  you  at  my  house  ? 

Filia.  Soon  enough,  to  your  cost,  sir.     Fare  you  well. 

[^Exil. 

Bar.  Nay,  to  thine  own  cost,  villain,  if  thou  com'st !        60 


SCENE  v.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  93 

Was  ever  Jew  tormented  as  I  am  ? 

To  have  a  shag-rag  knave  to  come,  force  from  me 

Three  hundred  crowns,  —  and  then  five  hundred  crowns  ! 

Well,  I  must  seek  a  means  to  rid  'em- all, 

And  presently  ;  for  in  his  villainy 

He  will  tell  all  he  knows,  and  I  shall  die  for't. 

I  have  it : 

I  will  in  some  disguise  go  see  the  slave, 

And  how  the  villain  revels  with  my  gold.  [^Exit 

Scene  VI.  —  Balcony  of  Bellamira's  House, 
Enter  Bellamira,  Ithamore,  and  Pilia-Borsa. 

Bell.  I'll  pledge  thee,  love,  and  therefore  drink  it  off. 

Itha.  Say'st  thou  me  so?  have  at  it ;  and  do  you  hear? 

[  Whispers. 

Bell.  Go  to,  it  shall  be  so. 

Itha.  Of  ^  that  condition  I  will  drink  it  up. 
Here's  to  thee  ! 

Bell.  Nay,  I'll  have  all  or  none. 

Itha.  There,  if  thou  lov'st  me  do  not  leave  a  drop. 

Bell.  Love  thee  !  fill  me  three  glasses. 

Itha.  Three  and  fifty  dozen,  I'll  pledge  thee. 

Pilia.  Knavely  spoke,  and  like  a  knight-at-arms.  10 

Itha.  Hey,  Rivo  Castiliano  /  ^  a  man's  a  man  ! 

Bell.  Now  to  the  Jew. 

Itha.  Ha  !  to  the  Jew,  and  send  me  money  he  were  best. 

Pilia.  What  would'st  thou  do  if  he  should  send  thee  none  ? 

Itha.  Do   nothing;    but  I  know  what    I    know;    he's    a 
murderer. 

1  On.  2  Familiar  refrain  in  drinking-songs ;  origin  doubtful. 


94  THE    JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  IV. 

Bell.  I  had  not  thought  he  had  been  so  brave  a  man. 

Itha.  You  knew  Mathias  and  the  governor's  son ;  he  and 
I  killed  'em  both,  and  yet  never  touched  'em. 

Pilia.  O,  bravely  done.  20 

Itha.  I  carried  the  broth  that  poisoned  the  nuns ;  and  he 
and  I,  snickle  hand  too  fast/  strangled  a  friar. 

Bell.  You  two  alone? 

Itha.  We  two ;  and  'twas  never  known,  nor  never  shall  be 
for  me. 

Pilia.  (^aside  to  Bell.).  This  shall  with  me  unto  the  gov- 
ernor. 

Bell,  {aside  to  Pilia.).  And  fit  it  should  :  but  first  let's  ha' 
more  gold,  — 
Come,  gentle  Ithamore.  30 

Itha.  Love  me  little,  love  me  long.^ 

Enter  Barabas,  disguised  as  a  French  musician^  with  a  lute, 
and  a  nosegay  in  his  hat. 

Bell.  A  French  musician  !  come,  let's  hear  your  skill. 

Bar.  Must  tuna  my  lute  for  sound,  twang,  twang,  first. 

Itha.  Wilt  drink.  Frenchman?  here's  to  thee  with  a  plague 
on  this  drunken  hiccup  ! 

Bar.  Gramercy,  monsieur. 

Bell.  Prythee,  Pilia-Borsa,  bid  the  fiddler  give  me  the 
posy  in  his  hat  there. 

Pilia.  Sirrah,  you  must  give  my  mistress  your  posy. 

Bar.  A  voire  commandement,  madame.  40 

^  A  corrupt  passage  :  snickle  is  a  noose,  or  slip-knot ;  commonly  applied 
to  the  hangman's  halter,  and  to  snares  for  hares  and  rabbits.  Cimningham 
suggests,  "  snickle  hard  and  fast." 

2  This  expression  is  found  in  Heywood's  Proverbs,  1546. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  95 

Bell.  How  sweet,  my  Ithamore,  the  flowers  smell  ! 

Itha.  Like  thy  breath,  sweetheart ;  no  violet  like  'em. 

Pilia.  Foh  !  methinks  they  stink  like  a  hollyhock. 

Bar.  {aside) .  So,  now  I  am  revenged  upon  'em  all. 
The  scent  therepf  was  death]"!  poisoned  it. 

Itha.  Play,  fiddler,  or  I'll  cut  your  cat's  guts  into  chitter- 
lings. 

Bar.  Pardonnez-moiy  be  no  in  tune  yet ;  so  now,  now  all 
be  in. 

Itha.  Give  him  a  crown,  and  fill  me  out  more  wine.         50 

Pilia.  There's  two  crowns  for  thee  ;  play. 

Bar.  {aside).  How  liberally  the  villain  gives  me  mine  own 
gold  !  \^Plays. 

Pilia.  Methinks  he  fingers  very  welL- 

Bar.  {aside) .  So  did  you  when  you  stole  my  gold. 

Pilia.  How  swift  he  runs  ! 

Bar.  {aside) .  You  run  swifter  when  you  threw  my  gold 
out  of  my  window. 

Bell.  Musician,  hast  been  in  Malta  long  ? 

Bar.  Two,  three,  four  month,  madame.  60 

Itha.  Dost  not  know  a  Jew,  one  Barabas  ? 

Bar.  Very  mush ;  monsieur,  you  no  be  his  man  ? 

Pilia.  His jnan? 

Itha.    T  ^rnrn  \^f  p^a«;;^pt  ;    tell  him  SO. 

Bar.  {asidi^.  He_knows  it  already. 

Itha.  'Tis  a  strange  thing  of  that  Jew,  he  lives  upon 
pickled  grasshoppers  and  sauced  mushrooms. 

Bar.  {aside).  What  a  slave's  this?  the  governor  feeds  not 
as  I  do. 

Itha.  He  never  put  on  clean  shirt  since  he  was  circum- 
cised. 71 

Bar.  {aside) .  O  rascal !  I  change  myself  twice  a  day. 


96  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  V. 

Itha.  The  hat  he  wears,  Judas  left  under  the  elder ^  when 
he  hanged  himself. 

Bar.  {aside) .  'Twas  sent  me  as  a  present  from  the  great 
Cham. 

J^/ia.  A  musty  slave  he  is  ;  —  Whither  now,  fiddler  ? 

Bar.  Pardonnez-moi,  monsieur,  me  be  no  well. 

Pilia.  Farewell,  fiddler  !  (^jtrzVBARABAS.)  One  letter  more 
to  the  Jew.  80 

Bell.  Prythee,  sweet  love,  one  more,  and  write  it  sharp. 

Itha.  No,  I'll  send  by  word  of  mouth  now  —  Bid  him 
deliver  thee  a  thousand  crowns,  by  the  same  token,  that  the 
nuns  loved  rice,  that  Friar  Barnardine  slept  in  his  own 
clothes  ;  any  of  'em  will  do  it. 

Pilia.  Let  me  alone  to  urge  it,  now  I  know  the  meaning. 

Itha.  The  meaning  has  a  meaning.     Come,  let's  in  : 
To  undo  a  Jew  is  charity,  and  not  sin.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  —  The  Council-house. 
Enter  Ferneze,  Knights,  Martin  del  Bosco,  and  Officers. 

Fern.  Now,  gentlemen,  betake  you  to  your  arms, 
And  see  that  Malta  be  well  fortified ; 
And  it  behooves  you  to  be  resolute  ; 
For  Calymath,  having  hovered  here  so  long, 
Will  win  the  town,  or  die  before  the  walls. 

1st  Knight.  And  die  he  shall,  for  we  will  never  yield. 

1  Judas  is  said  to  have  hanged  himself  on  an  elder-tree.  When  at 
Jerusalem  in  1887,  I  saw  in  the  field  of  Aceldama  a  blighted  fig-tree,  not 
above  fifty  years  old,  on  which  the  natives  say  Judas  hanged  himself. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  9  7 

Enter  Bellamira  and  Pilia-Borsa. 

Bell.  O,  bring  us  to  the  governor. 

Fern.  Away  with  her  !  she  is  a  courtesan. 

Bell.  Whate'er  I  am,  yet,  governor,  hear  me  speak ; 
I  bring  thee  news  by  whom  thy  son  was  slain  :  10 

Mathias  did  it  not ;  it  was  the  Jew. 

Pilia.  Who,  besides  the  slaughter  of  these  gentlemen. 
Poisoned  his  own  daughter  and  the  nuns, 
Strangled  a  friar  and  I  know  not  what 
Mischief  besides. 

Fern.  Had  we  but  proof  of  this 

Bell.  Strong  proof,  my  lord ;  his  man's  now  at  my  lodging. 
That  was  his  agent ;  he'll  confess  it  all. 

Fern.  Go  fetch  him  straight  {exeunt  Officers) .  I  always 
feared  that  Jew. 

Enter  Officers  with  Barabas  and  Ithamore. 

Bar.  I'll  go  alone  ;  dogs  !  do  not  hale  me  thus.  20 

Itha.  Nor  me  neither,  I  cannot  outrun  you,  constable  :  — 
O  my  belly  ! 
Bar,  {aside).  One  dram  of  powder  more  had  made  all 

What  a  damned  slave  was  I ! 

Fern.  Make  fires,  heat  irons,  let  the  rack  be  fetched. 

1st  Knight.  Nay,  stay,  my  lord  ;  't  may  be  he  will  confess. 

Bar.  Confess !  what  mean  you,  lords  ?  who  should 
confess  ? 

Fern.  Thou  and  thy  Turk ;  'twas  you  that  slew  my  son. 

Itha.  guilty,  mv  lord.  I  confess^  Your  son  and  Mathias 
were  both  contracted  unto  Abigail ;  he  forged  a  counterfeit 
challenge.  31 


98  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [ACT  V. 

Bar.  Who  carried  that  challenge? 

Itha.  I  carried  it,  I  confess;  but  who  writ  it?  Marry, 
even  he  that  strangled  Barnardine,  poisoned  the  nuns  and 
his  own  daughter. 

Fern.  Away  with  him  !  his  sight  is  death  to  me. 

Bar.  For  what,  you  men  of  Malta  ?  hear  me  speak : 
She  is  a  courtesan,  and  he  a  thief, 
And  he  my  bondman.     Let  me  have  [the]  law,^ 
For  none  of  this  can  prejudice  my  life.  40 

Fern.  Once  more,  away  with  him ;  you  shall  have  law. 

Bar.  (aside).  Devils,  do  your  worst !    I'll  live  in  spite  of 
you.  — 
As  these  have  spoke,  so  be  it  to  their  souls  !  — 
{Aside)  I  hope  the  poisoned  flowers  will  work  anon. 

[Exeunt  Officers  with  Barabas  and  Ithamore, 
Bellamira  and  Pilia-Borsa. 

Enter  Katherine. 

Kath.  Was  my  Mathias  murdered  by  the  Jew? 
Ferneze,  'twas  thy  son  that  murdered  him. 

Fern.  Be  patient,  gentle  madam,  it  was  he ; 
He  forged  the  daring  challenge  made  them  fight. 

Kath.  Where  is  the  Jew?  where  is  that  murderer? 

Fern.  In  prison  till  the  law  has  passed  on  him.  50 

Re-enter  First  Officer. 

1st  Off.  Myjord,  the  rnnrtpgan  andhpr  man  are  dead : 
SQjsthe  Turk  and  Barabas  the  Jew. 
Fern.  Dead  I  '     ~ — ~ 

1st  Off.  Dead,  my  lord,  and  here  they  bring  his  body. 
Bosco.  This  sudden  death  of  his  is  very  strange. 

1  The  metre  requires  the  insertion  of  the. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  99 

Re-enter  Officers  carrying  Barabas  as  dead. 

Fern.  Wonder  not  at  it,  sir,  the  Heavens  are  just ; 
Their  deaths  were  Hke  their  hves,  then  think  not  of  'em. 
Since  they  are  dead,  let  them  be  buried ; 
For  the  Jew's  body,  throw  that  o'er  the  walls, 
To  be  a  pray  for  vultures  and  wild  beasts.  —  60 

So  now  away,  and  fortify  the  town. 

\Exeunt  all^  leaving  Barabas  on  the  floor. 

Scene  II.  —  Outside  the  City  Walls. 

Barabas  discovered  rising. 

Bar.  What,  all  alone  ?  well  fare,  sleepy  drink. 
I'll  be  revenged  on  this  accursed  town ; 
For  by  my  means  Calymath  shall  enter  in. 
I'll  help  to  slay  their  children  and  their  wives, 
To  fire  the  churches,  pull  their  houses  down. 
Take  my  goods  too,  and  seize  upon  my  lands. 
I  hope  to  see  the  governor  a  slave. 
And,  rowing  in  a  galley,  whipt  to  death. 

Enter  Calymath,  Bassoes,  and  Turks. 

Caly.  Whom  have  we  here,  a  spy  ? 

Bar.  Yes,  my  good  lord,  one  that  can  spy  a  place  10 

Where  you  may  enter  and  surprise  the  town  : 
My  name  is  Barabas  :  I  am  a  Jew. 

Caly.  Art  thou  that  Jew  whose  goods  we  heard  were  sold 
For  tribute-money? 

Bar.  The  very  same,  my  lord  : 
And  since  that  time  they  have  hired  a  slave,  my  man, 
To  accuse  me  of  a  thousand  villainies  ; 


lOO  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  '         [ACT  V. 

I  was  imprisoned,  but  'scaped  their  hands. 

Caly.  Did'st  break  prison? 

Bar.  No,  no  ;  20 

I  drank  of  poppy  and  cold  mandrake  juice  :  ^ 
And  being  asleep,  belike  they  thought  me  dead, 
And  threw  me  o'er  the  walls  :  so,  or  how  else. 
The  Jew  is  here,  and  rests  at  your  command. 

Caly.  'Twas  bravely  done  :  but  tell  me,  Barabas, 
Canst  thou,  as  thou  report'st,  make  Malta  ours  ? 

Bar.  Fear  not,  my  lord,  for  here  against  the  sluice, 
The  rock  is  hollow,  and  of  purpose  digged. 
To  make  a  passage  for  the  running  streams 
And  common  channels  ^  of  the  city.  30 

Now,  whilst  you  give  assault  unto  the  walls, 
I'll  lead  five  hundred  soldiers  through  the  vault, 
And  rise  with  them  i'  the  middle  of  the  town, 
Open  the  gates  for  you  to  enter  in ; 
And  by  this  means  the  city  is  your  own. 

Caly.  If  this  be  true,  I'll  make  thee  governor. 

Bar.  And  if  it  not  be  true,  then  let  me  die. 

Caly.  Thou'st  doomed  thyself.     Assault  it  presently. 

\ExeMnt. 

Scene  III.  —  A  Square  in  the  City. 

Alarums  within.      Enter  Calymath,  Bassoes,  Turks,  and 
Barabas,  with  Ferneze  and  Knights  prisoners. 

Caly.  Now  vail  your  pride,  you  captive  Christians, 
And  kneel  for  mercy  to  your  conquering  foe  : 
Now  where's  the  hope  you  had  of  haughty  Spain  ? 

1  Cf.  Othello,  iii,  3:  "  not  poppy,  nor  mandragora."     Mandrake  is  a  cor- 
ruption of  mandragora. 

2  Kennels.  —  Dyce. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  lOI 

Ferneze,  speak,  had  it  not  been  much  better 
T'have  kept  thy  promise  than  be  thus  surprised  ? 

Fern.  What  should  I  say?     We  are  captives   and    must 
yield. 

Caly.  Ay,  villains,  you    must  yield,  and   under   Turkish 
yokes 
Shall  groaning  bear  the  burden  of  our  ire ; 
And,  Barabas,  as  erst  we  promised  thee. 
For  thy  desert  we  make  thee  governor  j  lo 

Use  them  at  thy  discretion. 

Bar.  Thanks,  my  lord. 

Fern.  O  fatal  day,  to  fall  into  the  hands 
Of  such  a  traitor  and  unhallowed  Jew  ! 
What  greater  misery  could  Heaven  inflict? 

Caly.  'Tis  our  command  :  and  Barabas,  we  give 
To  guard  thy  person  these  our  Janizaries  : 
Entreat  ^  them  well,  as  we  have  used  thee. 
And  now,  brave  bassoes,  come,  we'll  walk  about 
The  ruined  town,  and  see  the  wreck  we  made  :  —  20 

Farewell,  brave  Jew ;  farewell,  great  Barabas  ! 

Bar.  May  all  good  fortune  follow  Calymath  ! 

\_Exeunt  Calymath  and  Bassoes. 
And  now,  as  entrance  to  our  safety. 
To  prison  with  the  governor  and  these 
Captains,  his  consorts  and  confederates. 

Fern.  O  villain  !  Heaven  will  be  revenged  on  thee. 

\_Exeunt  Turks,  with  Ferneze  and  Knights. 

Bar.  Away  !  no  more ;  let  him  not  trouble  me.^ 
Thus  hast  thou  gotten,  by  thy  policy, 
No  simple  place,  no  small  authority : 

1  Treat. 

2  The  scene  here  is  shifted  to  the  governor's  residence,  inside  the  citadel. 


I02  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  [act  v. 

I  now  am  governor  of  Malta ;  true,  —  30 

But  Malta  hates  me,  and,  in  hating  me, 

My  life's  in  danger,  and  what  boots  it  thee, 

Poor  Barabas,  to  be  the  governor, 

Whenas  thy  life  shall  be  at  their  command  ? 

No,  Barabas,  this  must  be  looked  into ; 

And  since  by  wrong  thou  got'st  authority, 

Maintain  it  bravely  by  firm  policy, 

At  least  unprofitably  lose  it  not : 

For  he  that  liveth  in  authority. 

And  neither  gets  him  friends,  nor  fills  his  bags,  40 

Lives  Hke  the  ass,  that  ^sop  speaketh  of. 

That  labours  with  a  load  of  bread  and  wine. 

And  leaves  it  ofi"  to  snap  on  thistle- tops  : 

But  Barabas  will  be  more  circumspect. 

Begin  betimes  ;  occasion's  bald  behind ; 

Slip  not  thine  opportunity,  for  fear  too  late 

Thou  seek'st  for  much,  but  canst  not  compass  it.  — 

Within  here  ! 

Enter  Ferneze  with  a  Guard. 

Fern.  My  lord  ? 

Bar,  Ay,  "  lord ;  "  thus  slaves  will  learn.  50 

Now,  governor ;  —  stand  by  there,  wait  within. 

\_Exeunt  Guard. 
This  is  the  reason  that  I  sent  for  thee ; 
Thou  seest  thy  Hfe  and  Malta's  happiness 
Are  at  my  arbitrement ;  and  Barabas 
At  his  discretion  may  dispose  of  both ; 
Now  tell  me,  governor,  and  plainly  too. 
What  think'st  thou  shall  become  of  it  and  thee  ? 

Fern.  This,  Barabas  ;  since  things  are  in  thy  power. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  JEW  OF   MALTA.  IO3 

I  see  no  reason  but  of  Malta's  wreck, 

Nor  hope  of  thee  but  extreme  cruelty ;  60 

Nor  fear  I  death,  nor  will  I  flatter  thee. 

Bar.  Governor,  good  words  ;  be  not  so  furious. 
'Tis  not  thy  life  which  can  avail  me  aught ; 
Yet  you  do  live,  and  hve  for  me  you  shall : 
And,  as  for  Malta's  ruin,  think  you  not 
'Twere  slender  policy  for  Barabas 
To  dispossess  himself  of  such  a  place  ? 
For  sith,  as  once  you  said,  'tis  in  this  isle, 
In  Malta  here,  that  I  have  got  my  goods, 
And  in  this  city  still  have  had  success,  70 

And  now  at  length  am  grown  your  governor. 
Yourselves  shall  see  it  shall  not  be  forgot : 
For,  as  a  friend  not  known  but  in  distress, 
I'll  rear  up  Malta,  now  remediless. 

Fern.  Will  Barabas  recover  Malta's  loss  ? 
Will  Barabas  be  good  to  Christians  ? 

Bar.  What  wilt  thou  give  me,  governor,  to  procure 
A  dissolution  of  the  slavish  bands 
Wherein  the  Turk  hath  yoked  your  land  and  you  ? 
What  will  you  give  me  if  I  render  you  80 

The  life  of  Calymath,  surprise  his  men 
And  in  an  outhouse  of  the  city  shut 
His  soldiers,  till  I  have  consumed  'em  all  with  fire  ? 
What  will  you  give  him  that  procureth  this  ? 

Fern.  Do  but  bring  this  to  pass  which  thou  pretendest, 
Deal  truly  with  us  as  thou  intimatest, 
And  I  will  send  amongst  the  citizens. 
And  by  my  letters  privately  procure 
Great  sums  of  money  for  thy  recompense  : 
Nay  more,  do  this,  and  live  thou  governor  still.  90 


I04  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  V. 

Bar.  Nay,  do  thou  this,  Ferneze,  and  be  free ; 
Governor,  I  enlarge  thee ;  Hve  with  me, 
Go  walk  about  the  city,  see  thy  friends : 
Tush,  send  not  letters  to  'em,  go  thyself. 
And  let  me  see  what  money  thou  canst  make ; 
Here  is  my  hand  that  I'll  set  Malta  free : 
And  thus  we  cast  it :  to  a  solemn  feast 
I  will  invite  young  Selim  Calymath, 
Where  be  thou  present  only  to  perform 
One  stratagem  that  I'll  impart  to  thee,  loo 

Wherein  no  danger  shall  betide  thy  life. 
And  I  will  warrant  Malta  free  for  ever. 

Fern.  Here  is  my  hand ;  believe  me,  Barabas, 
I  will  be  there,  and  do  as  thou  desirest. 
When  is  the  time  ? 

Bar.  Governor,  presently : 
For  Calymath,  when  he  hath  viewed  the  town. 
Will  take  his  leave  and  sail  towards  Ottoman. 

Fern.  Then  will  I,  Barbaras,  about  this  coin. 
And  bring  it  with  me  to  thee  in  the  evening.  no 

Bar.  Do  so,  but  fail  not ;  now  farewell,  Ferneze  !  — 

\_Exit  Ferneze. 
And  thus  far  roundly  goes  the  business  : 
Thus  loving  neither,  will  I  live  with  both, 
Making  a  profit  of  my  policy ; 
And  he  from  whom  my  most  advantage  comes 
Shall  be  my  friend. 

This  is  the  life  we  Jews  are  used  to  lead ; 
And  reason  too,  for  Christians  do  the  like. 
Well,  now  about  effecting  this  device  ; 

First  to  surprise  great  Selim's  soldiers,  120 

And  then  to  make  provision  for  the  feast. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  JEW   OF  MALTA.  105 

That  at  one  instant  all  things  may  be  done  : 

My  poHcy  detests  prevention  : 

To  what  event  my  secret  purpose  drives, 

I  know ;  and  they  shall  witness  with  their  lives.  [Exit. 

Scene    IV.  —  Outside  the  City  Walls. 
Ente?'  Calymath  and  Bassoes. 

Caly.  Thus  have  we  viewed  the  city,  seen  the  sack, 
And  caused  the  ruins  to  be  new-repaired. 
Which  with  our  bombards'  ^  shot  and  basilisks 
We  rent  in  sunder  at  our  entry : 
And  now  I  see  the  situation. 
And  how  secure  this  conquered  island  stands 
Environed  with  the  Mediterranean  Sea, 
Strong-countermined  with  other  petty  isles ; 
And,  toward  Calabria,  backed  by  Sicily, 
(Where  Syracusian  Dionysius  reigned,)  10 

Two  lofty  turrets  that  command  the  town ; 
I  wonder  how  it  could  be  conquered  thus. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  From  Barabas,  Malta's  governor,  I  bring 
A  message  unto  mighty  Calymath ; 
Hearing  his  sovereign  was  bound  for  sea. 
To  sail  to  Turkey,  to  great  Ottoman, 
He  humbly  would  entreat  your  majesty 
To  come  and  see  his  homely  citadel, 
And  banquet  with  him  ere  thou  leav'st  the  isle. 

Caly.  To  banquet  with  him  in  his  citadel  ?  20 

I  fear  me,  messenger,  to  feast  my  train 

1  Large  cannon. 


I06  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [ACT  V. 

Within  a  town  of  war  so  lately  pillaged, 
Will  be  too  costly  and  too  troublesome  : 
Yet  would  I  gladly  visit  Barabas, 
For  well  has  Barabas  deserved  of  us. 

Mess.  SeUm,  for  that,  thus  saith  the  governor, 
That  he  hath  in  his  store  a  pearl  so  big, 
So  precious,  and  withal  so  orient, 
As,  be  it  valued  but  indifferently. 

The  price  thereof  will  serve  to  entertain  30 

Selim  and  all  his  soldiers  for  a  month ; 
Therefore  he  humbly  would  entreat  your  highness 
Not  to  depart  till  he  has  feasted  you. 

Caly.  I  cannot  feast  my  men  in  Malta-walls, 
Except  he  place  his  tables  in  the  streets. 

Mess.  Know,  Selim,  that  there  is  a  monastery 
Which  standeth  as  an  outhouse  to  the  town ; 
There  will  he  banquet  them ;  but  thee  at  home. 
With  all  thy  bassoes  and  brave  followers. 

Caly.  Well,  tell  the  governor  we  grant  his  suit,  40 

We'll  in  this  summer  evening  feast  with  him. 

Mess.  I  shall,  my  lord.  [ExiL 

Caly.  And  now,  bold  bassoes,  let  us  to  our  tents. 
And  meditate  how  we  may  grace  us  best 
To  solemnize  our  governor's  great  feast.  [Exeunt. 


Scene   V.  —  A  Street. 
Enter  Ferneze,  Knights,  and  Martin  del  Bosco. 

Eern.  In  this,  my  countrymen,  be  ruled  by  me, 
Have  special  care  that  no  man  sally  forth 
Till  you  shall  hear  a  culverin  discharged 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  107 

By  him  that  bears  the  linstock/  kindled  thus  ; 
Then  issue  out  and  come  to  rescue  me, 
For  happily  I  shall  be  in  distress, 
Or  you  released  of  this  servitude. 

1st  Knight.  Rather  than  thus  to  live  as  Turkish  thralls,^ 
What  will  we  not  adventure  ? 

Fern.  On  then,  begone.  10 

Knights.  Farewell,  grave  governor  ! 

\Exeunt  on  one  side  Knights  and  Martin  del 
Bosco ;  on  the  other  Ferneze. 

Scene   VI.  —  A  Hall  in  the  Governor's  Residence. 

Enter^  above,   Barabas,   zvith  a  hammer,  very  busy ;    and 
Carpenters. 

Bar.  How  stand  the  cords?      How  hang  these  hinges? 
fast? 
Are  all  the  cranes  and  pulleys  sure  ? 
1st  Carp.  All  fast. 

Bar.  Leave  nothing  loose,  all  levelled  to  my  mind. 
Why  now  I  see  that  you  have  art  indeed. 
There,  carpenters,  divide  that  gold  amongst  you  :  1 

[^Gives  money, 
Cio  swill  in  bowls  of  sack  ^  and  muscadine  * ! 
Down  to  the  cellar,  taste  of  all  my  wines. 
1st  Carp.  We  shall,  my  lord,  and  thank  you. 

\_Exeunt  Carpenters. 
Bar.  And,  if  you  like  them,  drink  your  fill  and  die  :        10 
For  so  I  live,  perish  may  all  the  world  ! 

1  The  stick  which  held  the  gunner's  match.  2  Slaves. 

3  A  dry  Spanish  wine  (Spanish  seco,  dry). 

*  A  rich,  fragrant  wine ;  written  also  muscatel  and  muscadel. 


Io8  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  [act  v. 

Now  Selim  Calymath  return  me  word 
That  thou  wilt  come,  and  I  am  satisfied. 

Enter  Messenger. 

Now,  sirrah,  what,  will  he  come? 

Mess.  He  will ;  and  has  commanded  all  his  men 
To  come  ashore,  and  march  through  Malta  streets, 
That  thou  mayest  feast  them  in  thy  citadel. 

Bar.  Then  now  are  all  things  as  my  wish  would  have  'em, 
There  wanteth  nothing  but  the  governor's  pelf, 
And  see,  he  brings  it.  20 

Enter  Ferneze. 

Now,  governor,  the  sum. 

Fern.  With  free  consent,  a  hundred  thousand  poundv5. 

Bar.  Pounds  say'st  thou,  governor?  well,  since  it  is  nc 
more, 
I'll  satisfy  myself  with  that;  nay,  keep  it  still. 
For  if  I  keep  not  promise,  trust  not  me. 
And,  governor,  now  partake  my  policy : 
First,  for  his  army ;  they  are  sent  before, 
Entered  the  monastery,  and  underneath 
In  several  places  are  field-pieces  pitched, 
Bombards,  whole  barrels  full  of  gunpowder  «o 

That  on  the  sudden  shall  dissever  it, 
And  batter  all  the  stones  about  their  ears, 
Whence  none  can  possibly  escape  alive. 
Now  as  for  Calymath  and  his  consorts, 
Here  have  I  made  a  dainty  gallery, 
The  floor  whereof,  this  cable  being  cut. 
Doth  fall  asunder ;  so  that  it  doth  sink 
Into  a  deep  pit  past  recovery. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  IO9 

Here,  hold  that  knife   {throws  down  a  knife) ^  and  when 

thou  seest  he  comes, 
And  with  his  bassoes  shall  be  blithely  set,  40 

A  warning-piece  shall  be  shot  off  from  the  tower, 
To  give  thee  knowledge  when  to  cut  the  cord 
And  fire  the  house  :  say,  will  not  this  be  brave  ? 

Fern.  O  excellent !  here,  hold  thee,  Barabas, 
I  trust  thy  word,  take  what  I  promised  thee. 

Bar.  No,  governor,  I'll  satisfy  thee  first, 
Thou  shalt  not  live  in  doubt  of  anything. 
Stand  close,  for  here  they  come  (Ferneze  retires).     Why, 

is  not  this 
A  kingly  kind  of  trade  to  purchase  towns 
By  treachery  and  sell  'em  by  deceit?  50 

Now  tell  me,  worldlings,  underneath  the  sun 
If  greater  falsehood  ever  has  been  done? 

Enter  Calymath  and  Bassoes. 

Caly.  Come,  my  companion  bassoes ;  see,  I  pray, 
How  busy  Barabas  is  there  above 
To  entertain  us  in  his  gallery ; 
Let  us  salute  him.     Save  thee,  Barabas  ! 

Bar.  Welcome,  great  Calymath  ! 

Fern,  {aside) .  How  the  slave  jeers  at  him. 

Bar.  Will't  please  thee,  mighty  Selim  Calymath, 
To  ascend  our  homely  stairs?  60 

Caly.  Ah,  Barabas;  — 
Come,  bassoes,  ascend. 

Fern,  {coming forward) .  Stay,  Calymath  ! 
For  I  will  show  thee  greater  courtesy 
Than  Barabas  would  have  afforded  thee. 


no  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  V. 

Knight  {within).  Sound  a  charge  there  ! 

\_A  charge  sounded  within.  Ferneze  cuts  the  cord : 
the  floor  of  the  gallery  gives  way,  and  Barabas 
falls  into  a  caldron. 

Enter  Martin  del  Bosco  and  Knights. 

Caly.  How  now  !  what  means  this  ? 

Bar.  Help,  help  me  !  Christians,  help  ! 

Fern.  See,  Calymath,  this  was  devised  for  thee  ! 

Caly.  Treason  !  treason  !  bassoes,  fly  !  70 

Fern.  No,  Selim,  do  not  fly ; 
See  his  end  first,  and  fly  then  if  thou  canst. 

Bar.  O  help  me,  Selim  !  help  me,  Christians  ! 
Governor,  why  stand  you  all  so  pitiless  ? 

Fern.  Should  I  in  pity  of  thy  plaints  or  thee, 
Accursed  Barabas,  base  Jew,  relent? 
No,  thus  I'll  see  thy  treachery  repaid. 
But  wish  thou  hadst  behaved  thee  otherwise. 

Bar.  You  will  not  help  me,  then  ? 

Fern.  No,  villain,  no.  80 

Bar.  And,  villains,  know  you  cannot  help  me  now.  — 
Then,  Barabas,  breathe  forth  thy  latest  hate, 
And  in  the  fury  of  thy  torments  strive 
To  end  thy  life  with  resolution. 
Know,  governor,  'twas  I  that  slew  thy  son ; 
I  framed  the  challenge  that  did  make  them  meet : 
Know,  Calymath,  I  aimed  thy  overthrow. 
And  had  I  but  escaped  this  stratagem, 
I  would  have  brought  confusion  on  you  all, 
Damned  Christian  dogs  !  and  Turkish  infidels  !  90 

But  now  begins  the  extremity  of  heat 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  JEW   OF   MALTA.  1 1 1 

To  pinch  me  with  intolerable  pangs  : 

Die,  life  !  fly,  soul !  tongue,  curse  thy  fill,  and  die  !      \^Dies. 

Caly.  Tell  me,  you  Christians,  what  doth  this  portend  ? 

Fern.  This  train  ^  he  laid  to  have  entrapped  thy  life ; 
Now,  SeHm,  note  the  unhallowed  deeds  of  Jews  : 
Thus  he  determined  to  have  handled  thee, 
But  I  have  rather  chose  to  save  thy  life. 

Caly.  Was  this  the  banquet  he  prepared  for  us  ? 
Let's  hence,  lest  further  mischief  be  pretended.^  loo 

Fern.  Nay,  SeHm,  stay ;  for  since  we  have  thee  here, 
We  will  not  let  thee  part  so  suddenly : 
Besides,  if  we  should  let  thee  go,  all's  one. 
For  with  thy  galleys  could'st  thou  not  get  hence, 
Without  fresh  men  to  rig  and  furnish  them. 

Caly.  Tush,  governor,  take  thou  no  care  for  that, 
My  men  are  all  aboard. 
And  do  attend  my  coming  there  by  this. 

Fern.  Why,  heard'st  thou  not  the  trumpet  sound  a  charge  ? 

Caly.  Yes,  what  of  that  ?  no 

Fern.  Why  then  the  house  was  fired. 
Blown  up,  and  all  thy  soldiers  massacred. 

Caly.  O  monstrous  treason  ! 

Fern.  A  Jew's  courtesy  : 
For  he  that  did  by  treason  work  our  fall, 
By  treason  hath  delivered  thee  to  us : 
Know,  therefore,  till  thy  father  hath  made  good 
The  ruins  done  to  Malta  and  to  us. 
Thou  canst  not  part ;  for  Malta  shall  be  freed, 
Or  Selitn  ne'er  return  to  Ottoman.  120 

Caly.  Nay,  rather.  Christians,  let  me  go  to  Turkey, 
In  person  there  to  meditate^  your  peace; 

1  Stratagem.  2  Intended.  *  Query,  mediate. 


112  THE  JEW  OF  MALTA.  [ACT  V. 

To  keep  me  here  will  not  advantage  you. 

Fern.  Content  thee,  Calymath,  here  thou  must  stay, 
And  live  in  Malta  prisoner ;   for  come  all  the  world 
To  rescue  thee,  so  will  we  guard  us  now, 
As  sooner  shall  they  drink  the  ocean  dry 
Than  conquer  Malta,  or  endanger  us. 
So  march  away  and  let  due  praise  be  given 
Neither  to  Fate  nor  Fortune,  but  to  Heaven.     {Exeunt.  130 


II. 

THE   ALCHEMIST. 

By  Ben  Jonson. 

Produced  in  1610;  dedicated  to  Lady  Mary  Wroth,  niece  of 
Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


THE   alchemist; 


TO  THE   READER. 

If  thou  beest  more,  thou  art  an  understander,  and  then  I  trust  thee.  If 
thou  art  one  that  takest  up,  and  but  a  pretender,  beware  of  what  hands 
thou  receivest  thy  commodity;  for  thou  wert  never  more  fair  in  the  way  to 
be  cozened  than  in  this  age,  in  poetry,  especially  in  plays :  wherein  now 
the  concupiscence  of  dances  and  of  antics  so  reigneth,  as  to  run  away  from 
Nature,  and  be  afraid  of  her,  is  the  only  point  of  Art  that  tickles  the  specta- 
tors. But  how  out  of  purpose  and  place  do  I  name  Art?  When  the 
professors  are  grown  so  obstinate  contemners  of  it,  and  presumers  on  their 
own  naturals,  as  they  are  deriders  of  all  diligence  that  way,  and,  by  simple 
mocking  at  the  terms,  when  they  understand  not  the  things,  think  to  get  off 
wittily  with  their  ignorance.  Nay,  they  are  esteemed  the  more  learned  and 
sufficient  for  this,  by  the  many,  through  their  excellent  vice  of  judgment. 
For  they  commend  writers  as  they  do  fencers  and  wrestlers ;  who,  if  they 
come  in  robustuously,  and  put  for  it  with  a  great  deal  of  violence,  are 
received  for  the  braver  fellows :  when  many  times  their  own  rudeness  is  the 
cause  of  their  disgrace,  and  a  little  touch  of  their  adversary  gives  all  that 
boisterous  force  the  foil.  I  deny  not  but  that  these  men,  who  always  seek 
to  do  more  than  enough,  may  sometime  happen  on  something  that  is  good 
and  great ;  but  very  seldom  :  and  when  it  comes  it  doth  not  recompense 
tne  rest  of  their  ill.  It  sticks  out,  perhaps,  and  is  more  eminent,  because 
all  is  sordid  and  vile  about  it ;  as  lights  are  more  discerned  in  a  thick  dark- 
ness than  a  faint  shadow.  I  speak  not  this  out  of  a  hope  to  do  good  to  any 
man  against  his  will ;  for  I  know,  if  it  were  put  to  the  question  of  theirs 
and  mine,  the  worse  would  find  more  suffrages :  because  the  most  favour 
common  errors.  But  I  give  thee  this  warning,  that  there  is  a  great  differ- 
ence between  those  that,  to  gain  the  opinion  of  copy ,2  utter  all  they  can, 
however  unfitly ;  and  those  that  use  election  and  a  mean.  For  it  is  only 
the  disease  of  the  unskilful  to  think  rude  things  greater  than  polished,  or 
scattered  more  numerous  than  composed. 

*  In  a  few  places  in  the  text  of  this  play  I  have  adopted  slight  verbal  alter- 
ations, suggested  by  Professor  Henry  Morley. 

*  Reputation  of  being  fertile  writers. 

"5 


Il6  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [prologue. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Subtle,  the  Alchemist. 

Face,  the  Housekeeper. 

DoL  Common,  their  Colleague. 

Dapper,  a  Clerk. 

D RUGGER,  a  Tobacco  Man. 

LOVEWIT,  Master  of  the  House. 

Sir  Epicure  Mammon,  a  Knight. 


Pertinax  Surly,  a  Gamester. 
Tribulation  Wholesome,  a  Pas* 

tor  of  Amsterdam. 
Ananias,  a  Deacon  there. 
Kastril,  the  angry  Boy. 
Dame  Pliant,  his  Sister,  a  Widow. 
Neighbours,  Officers,  Mutes. 


Scene:  London. 


ARGUMENT. 


T  HE  sickness  ^  hot,  a  master  quit,  for  fear, 
H  is  house  in  town,  and  left  one  servant  there. 
E  ase  him  corrupted,  and  gave  means  to  know 

A  cheater  and  his  punk  ^ ;  who  now  brought  low, 
L  eaving  their  narrow  practice,  were  become 
C  ozeners  at  large  ;  and  only  wanting  some 
H  ouse  to  set  up,  with  him  they  here  contract, 
E  each  for  a  share,  and  all  begin  to  act. 
M  uch  company  they  draw,  and  much  abuse, 
I    n  casting  figures,^  telling  fortunes,  news, 
S   elling  of  flies,*  false  putting  of  the  stone, 
T  ill  it,  and  they,  and  all  in  fume  are  gone. 

PROLOGUE. 

Fortune,  that  favours  fools,  these  two  short  hours 

We  wish  away,  both  for  your  sakes  and  ours. 
Judging  Spectators  ;  and  desire,  in  place, 

1  Plague.  3  Astrological  divination. 

2  Coarse  woman.  4  Familiar  spirits. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  II 7 

To  the  author  justice,  to  ourselves  but  grace. 
Our  scene  is  London,  'cause  we  would  make  known 

No  country's  mirth  is  better  than  our  own : 
No  clime  breeds  better  matter,  for  your  bore, 

Shark,  squire,  impostor,  many  persons  more, 
Whose  manners,  now  called  humours,  feed  the  stage ; 

And  which  have  still  been  subject  for  the  rage  10 

Or  spleen  of  comic  writers.     Though  this  pen 

Did  never  aim  to  grieve,  but  better,  men ; 
Howe'er  the  age  he  lives  in  doth  endure 

The  vices  that  she  breeds,  above  their  cure. 
But  when  the  wholesome  remedies  are  sweet. 

And  in  their  working  gain  and  profit  meet, 
He  hopes  to  find  no  spirit  so  much  diseased 

But  will  with  such  fair  c6rrectives  be  pleased : 
For  here  he  doth  not  fear  who  can  apply. 

If  there  be  any  that  will  sit  so  nigh  20 

Unto  the  stream,  to  look  what  it  doth  run, 

They  shall  find  things  they'd  think  or  wish  were  done ; 
They  are  so  natural  follies,  but  so  shown 

As  even  the  doers  may  see,  and  yet  not  own. 


ACT   I. 

Scene  I.  — A  Room  in  Lovewit's  House, 

Enter  Face,  in  a  captain's  uniform,  with  his  sword  drawn, 
and  Subtle  with  a  vial,  quarrelling,  and  followed  by  DoL 
Common. 

Face.  Believe 't,  I  will. 

Sub.  Thy  worst.     I  spit  at  thee. 


Il8  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  i. 

DoL  Have  you  your  wits  ?     Why,  gentlemen,  for  love 

Face.  Sirrah,  I'll  strip  you 

Dot.  Nay,  look  ye,  sovereign,  general,  are  you  madmen  ? 

Sub.  Oh,  let  the  wild  sheep  loose.     I'll  gum  your  silks 
With  good  strong  water,  an  you  come. 

Dol.  Will  you  have 
The  neighbours  hear  you  ?  will  you  betray  all  ? 
Hark  !  I  hear  somebody.  lo 

Face.  Sirrah 

Sub.  I  shall  mar 
All  that  the  tailor  has  made,  if  you  approach. 

Face.  You  most  notorious  whelp,  you  insolent  slave, 
Dare  you  do  this  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  faith ;  yes,  faith. 

Face.  Why,  who 
Am  I,  my  mongrel  ?     Who  am  I  ? 

Sub.  I'll  tell  you. 
Since  you  know  not  yourself.  20 

Face.  Speak  lower,  rogue. 

Sub.  Yes,  you  were  once  (time's  not  long  past)  the  good. 
Honest,  plain,  livery  three  pound  thrum  that  kept 
Your  master's  worship's  house  here  in  the  Friars, 
For  the  vacations 

Face.  Will  you  be  so  loud  ? 

Sub.  Since,  by  my  means,  translated  suburb-captain. 

Face.  By  your  means,  doctor  dog  ! 

Sub.  Within  man's  memory, 
All  this  I  speak  of.  30 

Face.  Why,  I  pray  you,  have  I 
Been  countenanced  by  you,  or  you  by  me  ? 
Do  but  collect,  sir,  where  I  met  you  first. 

Sub.  I  do  not  hear  well. 


SCENE  1.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  II9 

Face.  Not  of  this,  I  think  it. 
But  I  shall  put  you  in  mind,  sir ; —  at  Pie-corner, 
Taking  your  meal  of  steam  in  from  cooks'  stalls, 
Where,  Hke  the  father  of  hunger,  you  did  walk 
Piteously  costive,  with  your  pinch'd  horn-nose, 
And  your  complexion  of  the  Roman  wash,  40 

Stuck  full  of  black  and  melanchoHc  worms. 
Like  powder  corns  shot  at  the  artillery  yard. 

Sub,  I  wish  you  could  advance  your  voice  a  little.^ 

Face.  When  you  went  pinn'd  up  in  the  several  rags 
You  had  raked  and  pick'd  from  dunghills,  before  day ; 
Your  feet  in  mouldy  slippers,  for  your  kibes  ^ : 
A  felt  of  rug,^  and  a  thin  threaden  cloak, 
That  scarce  would  cover  your  no  buttocks 

Sub.  So,  sir  ! 

Face.  When  all  your  alchemy  and  your  algebra,  50 

Your  minerals,  vegetals,  and  animals. 
Your  conjuring,  cozening,  and  your  dozen  of  trades, 
Could  not  reUeve  your  corps  *  with  so  much  linen 
Would  make  you  tinder,  but  to  see  a  fire, 
I  gave  you  countenance,  credit  for  your  coals, 
Your  stills,  your  glasses,  your  materials ; 
Built  you  a  furnace,  drew  you  customers. 
Advanced  all  your  black  arts  ;  lent  you,  beside, 
A  house  to  practise  in 

Sub.  Your  master's  house  !  60 

Face.  Where  you  have  studied  the  more  thriving  skill 
Of  cozening  since. 

Sub.  Yes,  in  your  master's  house.    ' 
You  and  the  rats  here  kept  possession. 

1  A  play  on  the  word  voice,  which  is  used  here  for  reputation. 

2  Chilblains'.  3  Hat  of  coarse  woollen  cloth.  *  Body. 


I20  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  I. 

Make  it  not  strange.     I  know  you  were  one  could  keep 

The  buttery-hatch  still  lock'd,  and  save  the  chippings, 

Sell  the  dole  beer  ^  to  aquavitae  men, 

The  which,  together  with  your  Christmas  vails  ^ 

At  post-and-pair,^  your  letting  out  of  counters,* 

Made  you  a  pretty  stock,  some  twenty  marks,^  70 

And  gave  you  credit  to  converse  with  cobwebs, 

Here,  since  your  mistress'  death  hath  broke  up  house. 

Face.  You  might  talk  softlier,  rascal. 

Sub.  No,  you  scarab, 
I'll  thunder  you  in  pieces  :  I  will  teach  you 
How  to  beware  to  tempt  a  Fury  again, 
That  carries  tempest  in  his  hand  and  voice. 

Face.  The  place  has  made  you  vaHant. 

Sub.  No,  your  clothes.  — 
Thou  vermin,  have  I  ta'en  thee  out  of  dung,  •    80 

So  poor,  so  wretched,  when  no  Uving  thing 
Would  keep  thee  company,  but  a  spider,  or  worse  ? 
Rais'd  thee  from  brooms,  and  dust,  and  watering-pots, 
Sublimed  thee,  and  exalted  thee,  and  fix'd  thee 
In  the  third  region,  call'd  our  state  of  grace  ? 
Wrought  thee  to  spirit,  to  quintessence,  with  pains 
Would  twice  have  won  me  the  Philosopher's  work  ! 
Put  thee  in  words  and  fashion,  made  thee  fit 
For  more  than  ordinary  fellowships  ? 

Giv'n  thee  thy  oaths,  thy  quarrelling  dimensions,  90 

Thy  rules  to  cheat  at  horse-race,  cockpit,  cards,  dice, 
Or  whatever  gallant  tincture  else  ? 

1  Beer  furnished  to  the  poor,  from  a  rich  man's  buttery. 

2  Perquisites.  3  A  game  at  cards. 
^  The  servant  received  a  small  fee  for  furnishing  counters. 
5  A  mark  was  worth  15J.  a^d. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  I2i 

Made  thee  a  second  in  mine  own  great  art? 
And  have  I  this  for  thanks  !     Do  you  rebel, 
Do  you  fly  out  in  the  projection?^ 
Would  you  be  gone  now? 

Dol.  Gentlemen,  what  mean  you  ? 
Will  you  mar  all  ? 

Sub.  Slave,  thou  hadst  no  name 

Dol.  Will  you  undo  yourselves  with  civil  war?  loo 

Sub.  Never  been  known,  past  equi  clibanum, 
The  heat  of  horse-dung,  under  ground,  in  cellars. 
Or  an  ale-house  darker  than  deaf  John's  ;  been  lost 
To  all  mankind  but  laundresses  and  tapsters, 
Had  not  I  been. 

DoL  Do  you  know  who  hears  you,  sovereign  ? 

Face.  Sirrah 

DoL  Nay,  general,  I  thought  you  were  civil. 

Face.  I  shall  turn  desperate  if  you  grow  thus  loud. 

Sub.  And  hang  thyself,  I  care  not.  no 

Face.  Hang  thee,  collier, 
And  all  thy  pots  and  pans,  in  picture,  I  will, 
Since  thou  hast  moved  me 

Dol.  Oh,  this  will  o'erthrow  all. 

Face.  Write  thee  up  bawd  in  Paul's,  have  all  thy  tricks. 
Of  cozening  with  a  hollow  coal,  dust,  scrapings, 
Searching  for  things  lost,  with  a  sieve  and  shears, 
Erecting  figures  in  your  rows  of  houses,^ 
And  taking  in  of  shadows  with  a  glass,^ 
Told  in  red  letters  ;  and  a  face  cut  for  thee  120 

1  That  is,  fail  at  the  last  moment,  when  success  is  at  hand. 

2  Each  house,  in  astrology,  corresponded  to  one  of  the  twelve  signs  of  the 
zodiac. 

8  Method  of  divination. 


122  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  I. 

Worse  than  Gamaliel  Ratsey's.^ 

Dol.  Are  you  sound? 
Have  you  your  senses,  masters  ? 

Face.  I  will  have 
A  book,  but  barely  reckoning  thy  impostures. 
Shall  prove  a  true  philosopher's  stone  to  printers. 

Sub.  Away,  you  trencher-rascal ! 

Face.  Out,  you  dog-leach  ! 
The  vomit  of  all  prisons 

Dol.  Will  you  be  130 

Your  own  destructions,  gentlemen? 

Face.  Still  spewed  out 
For  lying  too  heavy  on  the  basket.^ 

Sub.  Cheater ! 

Face.  Bawd ! 

Sub.  Cowherd  ! 

Face.  Conjurer  ! 

Sub.  Cut-purse  ! 

Face.  Witch  ! 

Dol.  O  me  !  140 

We  are  ruin'd,  lost !     Have  you  no  more  regard 
To  your  reputations?     Where's  your  judgment?     'Slight, 
Have  yet  some  care  of  me,  of  your  repubhc 

Face.  Away  this  brach  ^ !  I'll  bring  thee,  rogue,  within 
The  statute  of  sorcery,  tricesimo  tertio 
Of  Harry  the  Eighth  :  ay,  and  perhaps  thy  neck 
Within  a  noose,  for  laundring  gold  and  barbing  it/ 

Dol.  {snatches   Face's  sword).  You'll   bring  your  head 
within  a  cockscomb,  will  you  ? 

1  A  noted  highwayman,  executed  at  Bedford. 

2  For  eating  more  than  your  share  of  the  broken  victuals  sent  in  a  basket 
to  prisoners. 

8  Hunting-dog.  4  Rolling  and  clipping  gold. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 23 

And  you,  sir,  with  your  menstrue.^  (^Dashes  Subtle's  vial  out 

of  his  hand.)     Gather  it  up.  — 
'Sdeath,  you  abominable  pair  of  stinkards,^  150 

Leave  off  your  barking,  and  grow  one  again, 
Or,  by  the  Hght  that  shines,  I'll  cut  your  throats. 
I'll  not  be  made  a  prey  unto  the  marshal 
For  ne'er  a  snarling  dog-bolt  of  you  both. 
Have  you  together  cozen'd  all  this  while, 
And  all  the  world,  and  shall  it  now  be  said 
You've  made  most  courteous  shift  to  cozen  yourselves? 
You  will  accuse  him  !  you  will  bring  him  in  [  To  Face. 

Within  the  statute?    Who  shall  take  your  word  ? 
A  rascal,  upstart,  apocryphal  captain,  160 

Whom  not  a  Puritan  in  Blackfriars  ^  will  trust 
So  much  as  for  a  feather  :  and  you,  too,  \To  Subtle. 

Will  give  the  cause,  forsooth  !  you  will  insult. 
And  claim  a  primacy  in  the  divisions  ! 
You  must  be  chief !  as  if  you  only  had 
The  powder  to  project  *  with,  and  the  work 
Were  not  begun  out  of  equality  ? 
The  venture  tripartite  ?  all  things  in  common  ? 
Without  priority?    'Sdeath  !  you  perpetual  curs. 
Fall  to  your  couples  again,  and  cozen  kindly,  170 

And  heartily,  and  lovingly,  as  you  should, 
And  lose  not  the  beginning  of  a  term, 
Or,  by  this  hand,  I  shall  grow  factious  too, 

1  The  fluid  in  which  alchemists  dissolved  solid  substances. 

2  Mean  fellows. 

8  The  Puritans,  —  the  term  was  first  current  about  1564,  —  who  are  so 
cleverly  ridiculed  in  this  play,  dwelt  in  the  Blackfriars  district  in  London ; 
they  dealt  largely  in  feathers. 

4  The  last,  twelfth,  process  in  alchemy,  when  the  base  metal  was  to  be 
turned  into  gold. 


124  ^^^  ALCHEMIST.  [act  i. 

And  take  my  part,  and  quit  you. 

Face.  'Tis  his  fault ; 
He  ever  murmurs,  and  objects  his  pains. 
And  says,  the  weight  of  all  lies  upon  him. 

Su^.  Why  so  it  does. 

Do/.  How  does  it  ?   Do  not  we 
Sustain  our  parts  ?  i8o 

Su^.  Yes,  but  they  are  not  equal. 

Do/.  Why,  if  your  part  exceed  to-day,  I  hope 
Ours  may  to-morrow  match  it. 

Sud.  Ay,  they  may. 

Do/.  May,  murmuring  mastiff !  Ay,  and  do.  Death  on  me  ! 
Help  me  to  throttle  him.  [Seizes  Sub.  /fy  the  throat. 

Sub.  Dorothy  !  Mistress  Dorothy  ! 
'Ods  precious,  I'll  do  anything.     What  do  you  mean? 

DoL  Because  o'  your  fermentation  and  cibation  ^  ? 

Sub,  Not  I,  by  heaven 190 

Do/.  Your  Sol  and  Luna"^ Help  me.  \_To  Face. 

Sub.  Would  I  were  hang'd  then  !    I'll  conform  myself. 

Do/.  Will  you,  sir  ?    Do  so  then,  and  quickly  :  swear. 

Sub.  What  should  I  swear  ? 

Do/.  To  leave  your  faction,  sir, 
And  labour  kindly  in  the  common  work. 

Sub.  Let  me  not  breathe  if  I  meant  aught  beside. 

1  The  sixth  and  seventh  processes ;  cibation  was  the  feeding  of  the  matter 
in  preparation  with  fresh  substances ;  also,  supplying  what  had  been  wasted 
by  evaporation. 

2  The  metals  used  by  alchemists  are  thus  enumerated  by  Chaucer,  in 
The  Yeoman's  Tale  : 

"The  bodies  seven,  lo!  here  hem  anone, 
Sol  gold  is,  and  Luna  silver  we  threpe, 
Mars  yron,  Mercury  quicksilver  we  clep)e, 
Saturnus  leade,  and  yupiter  is  tinne, 
And  Venus  copir." 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 25 

I  only  used  those  speeches  as  a  spur 
To  him. 

Dot.  I  hope  we  need  no  spurs,  sir.     Do  we?  200 

Face.  'SHd,  prove  to-day  who  shall  shark  best. 

Sub.  Agreed. 

DoL  Yes,  and  work  close  and  friendly. 

Sub.  'Slight,  the  knot 
Shall  grow  the  stronger  for  this  breach,  with  me. 

{They  shake  hands, 

DoL  Why,  so,  my  good  baboons  !    Shall  we  go  make 
A  sort  of  sober,  scurvy,  precise  neighbours, 
That  scarce  have  stniled  twice  since  the  king  came  in, 
A  feast  of  laughter  at  our  follies  ?    Rascals 
Would  run  themselves  from  breath  to  see  me  ride,  210 

Or  you  t'  have  but  a  hole  to  thrust  your  heads  in, 
For  which  you  should  pay  ear-rent  ?  ^    No,  agree. 
And  may  don  Provost  ride  a  feasting  long 
In  his  old  velvet  jerkin  and  stain'd  scarfs. 
My  noble  sovereign  and  worthy  general. 
Ere  we  contribute  a  new  crewel  garter 
To  his  most  worsted  worship.^ 

Sub.  Royal  Dol ! 
Spoken  like  Claridiana,^  and  thyself. 

Face.  For  which  at  supper  thou  shalt  sit  in  triumph,     220 
And  not  be  styled  Dol  Common,  but  Dol  Proper, 
Dol  Singular  :  the  longest  cut  at  night 
Shall  draw  thee  for  his  Doll  Particular.    \^Bell  rings  without. 

Sub.   Who's   that?    One    rings.     To   the   window,    Dol. 
(^Exit  Dol.)   Pray  heaven 

1  Refers  to  the  pillory. 

2  This  punning  on  crewel  and  worsted  was  probably  venerable  even  in 
Jonson's  time. 

8  Heroine  in  The  Mirror  of  Knighthood. 


126  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  I. 

The  master  do  not  trouble  us  this  quarter. 

Face.  Oh,  fear  not  him.     While  there  dies  one  a  week 
O'  the  plague,  he's  safe  from  thinking  toward  London : 
Beside,  he's  busy  at  his  hop-yards  now ; 
I  had  a  letter  from  him.     If  he  do. 

He'll  send  such  word  for  airing  of  the  house  230 

As  you  shall  have  sufficient  time  to  quit  it : 
Though  we  break  up  a  fortnight  'tis  no  matter. 

Re-enter  Dol. 

Sub.  Who  is  it,  Dol? 

Dol.  A  fine  young  quodling.^  s 

Face.  Oh, 
My  lawyer's  clerk  I  lighted  on  last  night 
In  Holbom,  at  the  Dagger.^    He  would  have 
(I  told  you  of  him)  a  familiar,^ 
To  rifle  with  at  horses,  and  win  cups. 

Dol,  Oh,  let  him  in.  246 

Sub.  Stay.    Who  shall  do't? 

Face.  Get  you 
Your  robes  on :  I  will  meet  him  as  going  out. 

Dol.  And  what  shall  I  do  ? 

Face.  Not  be  seen ;  away  !  \_Exit  Dol. 

Seem  you  very  reserv'd. 

Sub.  Enough.  \_Exit. 

Face,  {aloud  and  retiring) .  God  be  wi'  you,  sir. 
I  pray  you,  let  him  know  that  I  was  here  : 
Hie  name  is  Dapper.   I  would  gladly  have  staid,  but 250 

Dap.  {within).  Captain,  I  am  here. 

Face.  Who's  that? — He's  come,  I  think,  doctor. 

1  Slang ;  "  young  quill-driver."  2  a  low  gambling-hell. 

*  A  spirit  who  waited  upon  magicians. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 27 

Enter  Dapper. 

Good  faith,  sir,  I  was  going  away. 

Dap.  In  truth, 
I  am  very  sorry,  captain. 

Face.  But  I  thought 
Sure  I  should  meet  you. 

Dap.  Ay,  I  am  very  glad. 
I  had  a  scurvy  writ  or  two  to'  make, 

And  I  had  lent  my  watch  ^  last  night  to  one  260 

That  dines  to-day  at  the  sheriffs,  and  so  was  robb'd 
Of  my  pastime. 

Re-enter  Subtle,  in  his  velvet  cap  and  gown. 
Is  this  the  cunning-man? 

Face.  This  is  his  worship. 

Dap.  Is  he  a  doctor? 

Face.  Yes. 

Dop.  And  you  have  broke  with  him,  captain? 

Face.  Ay. 

Dap.  And  how? 

Face.  Faith,  he  does  make  the  matter,  sir,  so  dainty     270 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Dap.  Not  so,  good  captain. 

Face.  Would  I  were  fairly  rid  of  it,  believe  me. 

Dap.  Nay,  now  you  grieve  rne,  sir.     Why  should  you  wish 
so?     I  dare  assure  you,  I'll  not  be  ungrateful. 

Face.  I  cannot  think  you  will,  sir.     But  the  law 
Is  such  a  thing —  and  then  he  says,  Read's  matter^ 
FalHng  so  lately  — 

1  Watches  were  dear  and  scarce :  Dapper  pretends  to  a  luxury  above  his 
condition. 

2  Simon  Read,  convicted  of  practising  the  black  art,  had  been  recently 
pardoned  by  James  I. 


128  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  I. 

Dap.  Read  !  he  was  an  ass, 
And  dealt,  sir,  with  a  fool.  280 

Face.  It  was  a  clerk,  sir. 

Dap.  A  clerk  ! 

Face.  Nay,  hear  me,  sir,  you  know  the  law 
Better,  I  think 

Dap.  I  should,  sir,  and  the  danger  : 
You  know,  I  showed  the  statute  to  you. 

Face.  You  did  so. 

Dap.  And  will  I  tell  then  !     By  this  hand  of  flesh, 
Would  it  might  never  write  good  court-hand  more, 
If  I  discover.     What  do  you  think  of  me,  290 

That  I  am  a  chiaus  ^  ? 

Face.  What's  that? 

Dap.  The  Turk  was  here. 
As  one  would  say,  do  you  think  I  am  a  Turk  ? 

Face.  I'll  tell  the  doctor  so. 

Dap.  Do,  good  sweet  captain. 

Face.  Come,  noble  doctor,  pray  thee,  let's  prevail ; 
This  is  the  gentleman,  and  he's  no  chiaus. 

Sub.  Captain,  I  have  return'd  you  all  my  answer. 
I  would  do  much,  sir,  for  your  love  ;  but  this  300 

I  neither  may  nor  can. 

Face.  Tut,  do.  not  say  so. 
You  deal  now  with  a  noble  fellow,  doctor. 
One  that  will  thank  you  richly,  and  he  is  no  chiaus. 
Let  that,  sir,  move  you. 

Sub.  Pray  you,  forbear 

Face.  He  has 

1  A  cheat.  A  Turkish  chiaus,  or  interpreter,  defrauded,  in  1609,  some 
Turkish  merchants  in  England  out  of  ;^40oo :  the  fraud  was  famous  at  the 
time. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 29 

Four  angels  here.^ 

Sub,  You  do  me  wrong,  good  sir. 

Face.  Doctor,  wherein  ?  to  tempt  you  with  these  spirits  ? 

Sub.  To  tempt  my  art  and  love,  sir,  to  my  peril.  311 

'Fore  heaven,  I  scarce  can  think  you  are  my  friend, 
That  so  would  draw  me  to  apparent  danger. 

Face.  I  draw  you  !     A  horse  draw  you,  and  a  halter, 
You,  and  your  flies  together 

Dap.  Nay,  good  captain. 

Face.  That  know  no  difference  of  men. 

Sub.  Good  words,  sir. 

Face.  Good  deeds,  sir.  Dr.  Dogs-meat.    'Slight,  I  bring  you 
No  cheating  Glim  o'  the  Cloughs,^  or  Glaribels,  320 

That  look  as  big  as  five-and-fifty,  and  flush  ^ ; 
And  spit  out  secrets  like  hot  custard 

Dap.  Gaptain  ! 

Face.  Nor  any  melancholic  under-scribe, 
Shall  tell  the  vicar,  but  a  special  gentle. 
That  is  the  heir  to  forty  marks  a  year, 
Gonsorts  with  the  small  poets  of  the  time. 
Is  the  sole  hope  of  his  old  grandmother  ; 
That  knows  the  law,  and  writes  you  six  fair  hands. 
Is  a  fine  clerk,  and  has  his  cyphering  perfect,  330 

Will  take  his  oath  o'  the  Greek  Testament, 
If  need  be,  in  his  pocket ;  and  can  court 
His  mistress  out  of  Ovid. 

Dap.  Nay,  dear  captain 

Face.  Did  you  not  tell  me  so  ? 

Dap.  Yes  ;  but  I'd  have  you 

1  English  gold  coin,  worth  ten  shillings. 

2  A  North-country  archer,  often  mentioned  in  the  Robin  Hood  ballads. 

3  The  highest  counts  at  primero,  a  game  of  cards. 


130  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  l 

Use  Master  Doctor  with  some  more  respect. 

Face.  Hang    him,    proud    stag,    with    his    broad    velvet 

head  ! 

But  for  your  sake  I'd  choke  ere  I  would  change 

An  article  of  breath  with  such  a  puckfist^ :  340 

Come,  let's  be  gone.  \_Going. 

Sub.  Pray  you,  let  me  speak  with  you. 

Dap.  His  worship  calls  you,  captain. 

Face.  I  am  sorry 
I  e'er  embark'd  myself  in  such  a  business. 

Dap.  Nay,  good  sir ;  he  did  call  you. 

Face.  Will  he  take  then? 

Sub.  First,  hear  me 


Face.  Not  a  syllable,  'less  you  take. 
Sub.  Pray  you,  sir 


350 


Face.  Upon  no  terms,  but  an  assumpsit.^ 

Sub.  Your  humour  must  be  law. 

\^I/e  takes  the  four  angels. 

Face.  Why,  now,  sir,  talk. 
Now  I  dare  hear  you  with  mine  honour.     Speak. 
So  may  this  gentleman  too. 

Sub.  Why,  sir [  Offering  to  whisper  Face. 

Face.  No  whispering. 

Sub.  'Fore  heaven,  you  do  not  apprehend  the  loss 
You  do  yourself  in  this. 

Face.  Wherein  ?  for  what  ?  360 

Sub.  Marry,  to  be  so  importunate  for  one 
That  when  he  has  it,  will  undo  you  all ; 
He'll  win  up  all  the  money  in  the  town. 

.    1  Puff-ball,  term  of  reproach. 

2  A  voluntary  promise,  by  word  of  mouth,  to  perform  or  pay  anything  to 
another. 


SCENE  I.J  THE  ALCHEMIST.  131 

Face.  How  ! 

Sub.  Yes,  and  blow  up  gamester  after  gamester, 
As  they  do  crackers  in  a  puppet  play. 
If  I  do  give  him  a  familiar, 
Give  you  him  all  you  play  for ;  never  set  him  :  ^ 
For  he  will  have  it. 

Face.  You  are  mistaken,  doctor.  370 

Why,  he  does  ask  one  but  for  cups  and  horses 
A  rifling  fly ;  none  of  your  great  familiars. 

Dap.  Yes,  captain,  I  would  have  it  for  all  games. 

Sub.  r  told  you  so. 

Face,  {taking  Dap.  aside).  'Slight,  that  is  a  new  business  ! 
I  understood  you,  a  tame  bird,  to  fly 
Twice  in  a  term,  or  so,  on  Friday  nights. 
When  you  had  left  the  office,  for  a  nag 
Of  forty  or  fifty  shillings. 

Dap.  Ay,  'tis  true,  sir ;  380 

But  I  do  think  now  I  shall  leave  the  law. 
And  therefore 

Face.  Why,  this  changes  quite  the  case. 
Do  you  think  that  I  dare  move  him? 

Dap.  If  you  please,  sir ; 
All's  one  to  him,  I  see. 

Face.  What !  for  that  money? 
I  cannot  with  my  conscience ;  nor  should  you 
Make  the  request,  methinks. 

Dap.  No,  sir ;  I  mean  390 

To  add  consideration. 

Face.  Why,  then,  sir, 
I'll  try.  {Goes  to  Subtle.)  Say  that  it  were  for  all  games, 
doctor  ? 

1  Gamble  with,  lay  a  stake.  ^ 


132  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  I. 

Sub.  I  say  then,  not  a  mouth  shall  eat  for  him 
At  any  ordinary,  but  on  the  score. 
That  is  a  gaming  mouth,  conceive  me. 

Face.  Indeed  ! 

Sub.  He'll  draw  you  all  the  treasure  of  the  realm, 
If  it  be  set  him. 

Face.  Speak  you  this  from  art  ?  400 

Sub.  Ay,  sir,  and  reason  too,  the  ground  of  art. 
He  is  of  the  only  best  complexion 
The  Queen  of  Fairy  loves. 

Face.  What!     Is  he? 

Sub.  Peace. 
He'll  overhear  you.     Sir,  should  she  but  see  him 

Face.  What? 

Sub.  Do  not  you  tell  him. 

Face.  Will  he  win  at  cards  too  ? 

Sub.  The  spirits  of  dead  Holland,  living  Isaac,^  410 

You'd  swear  were  in  him  ;  such  a  vigorous  luck 
As  cannot  be  resisted.     'Slight,  he'll  put 
Six  of  your  gallants  to  a  cloke,  indeed.^ 

Face.  A  strange  success,  that  some  man  shall  be  born  to. 

Sub.  He  hears  you,  man 

Dap.  Sir,  I'll  not  be  ungrateful. 

Face.  Faith,  I  have  confidence  in  his  good  nature : 
You  hear,  he  says  he  will  not  be  ungrateful. 

Sub.  Why,  as  you  please ;  my  venture  follows  yours. 

Face.  Troth,  do  it,  doctor ;  think  him  trusty,  and  make 
him.  420 

He  may  make  us  both  happy  in  a  hour ; 
Win  some  five  thousand  pound,  and  send  us  two  on't. 

Dap.  Believe  it,  and  I  will,  sir. 

1  Two  adepts  in  alchemy  at  that  period.  2  Strip  them. 


SCENE  1.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  133 

Face.  And  you  shall,  sir.  \Takes  him  aside. 

You  have  heard  all? 

Dap.  No,  what  was't?     Nothing,  I,  sir. 

Face.  Nothing  ! 

Dap.  A  little,  sir. 

Face.  Well,  a  rare  star 
Reigned  at  your  birth.  430 

Dap.  At  mine,  sir  !     No. 

Face.  The  doctor 
Swears  that  you  are 

Sub.  Nay,  captain,  you'll  tell  all  now. 

Face.  AlHed  to  the  Queen  of  Fairy. 

Dap.  Who  ?  that  I  am  ? 
Believe  it  no  such  matter  — : — 

Face.  Yes,  and  that 
You  were  were  born  With  a  caul  on  your  head.* 

Dap.  Who  says  so?  440 

Face.  Come, 
You  know  it  well  enough,  though  you  dissemble  it. 

Dap.  V  fac,  I  do  not :  you  are  mistaken. 

Face.  How  ! 
Swear  by  your  fac? ^     And  in  a  thing  so  known 
Unto  the  doctor?     How  shall  we,  sir,  trust  you 
In  the  other  matter?  can  we  ever  think. 
When  you  have  won  five  or  six  thousand  pound, 
You'll  send  us  shares  in't,  by  this  rate  ? 

Dap.  By  Jove,  sir,  '  450 

I'll  win  ten  thousand  pound,  and  send  you  half. 
I'  fac's  no  oath. 

Sub.  No,  no ;  he  did  but  jest. 

1  The  superstitious  regarded  this  as  a  good  omen,  conferring  power  of 
second  sight. 

2  A  hit  at  the  Puritans,  who  avoided  oaths. 


134  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  I. 

Face.  Go  to.     Go  thank  the  doctor  :  he's  your  friend, 
To  take  it  so. 

Dap.  I  thank  his  worship. 

Face.  So  ! 
Another  angel. 

Dap.  Must  I? 

Face.  Must  you  !     'SHght,  460 

What  else  is  thanks  ?     Will  you  be  trivial  ?  —  Doctor, 

[Dapper  gives  him  the  money. 
When  must  he  come  for  his  familiar? 

Dap.  Shall  I  not  have  it  with  me  ? 

Sub.  Oh,  good  sir  ! 
There  must  a  world  of  ceremonies  pass ; 
You  must  be  bath'd  and  fumigated  first : 
Besides,  the  Queen  of  Fairy  does  not  rise 
Till  it  be  noon. 

Face.  Not,  if  she  danced,  to-night. 

Sub.  And  she  must  bless  it.  470 

Face.  Did  you  never  see  « 

Her  royal  grace  yet  ? 

Dap.  Whom? 

Face.  Your  aunt  of  Fairy  ? 

Sub.  Not  since  she  kissed  him  in  the  cradle,  captain ; 
I  can  resolve  you  that. 

Face.  Well,  see  her  grace, 
Whate'er  it  cost  you,  for  a  thing  that  I  know. 
It  will  be  somewhat  hard  to  compass ;  but 
However,  see  her.     You  are  made,  believe  it,  480 

If  you  can  see  her.     Her  grace  is  a  lone  woman, 
And  very  rich ;  and  if  she  take  a  fancy, 
She  will  do  strange  things.     See  her  at  any  hand. 
'Slid,  she  may  hap  to  leave  you  all  she  has : 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 35 

It  is  the  doctor's  fear. 

Dap.  How  will't  be  done,  then  ? 

Face.  Let  me  alone,  take  you  no  thought.     Do  you 
But  say  to  me,  Captain,  I'll  see  her  grace. 

Dap.  Captain,  I'll  see  her  grace. 

Face.  Enough.  \_Knocking  within.     490 

Sub.  WWs  there? 
Anon.  {Aside  to  Face.)  Conduct  him  forth  by  the  back  way. 
Sir,  against  one  o'clock  prepare  yourself. 
Till  when  you  must  be  fasting ;  only  take 
Three  drops  of  vinegar  in  at  your  nose. 
Two  at  your  mouth,  and  one  at  either  ear ; 
Then  blithe  your  fingers'  ends  and  wash  your  eyes, 
To  sharpen  your  five  senses,  and  cry  hum 
Thrice,  and  then  buz^  as  often ;  and  then  come.  \_Exit. 

Face.  Can  you  remember  this  ?  500 

Dap.  I  warrant  you. 

Face.  Well  then  away.     It  is  but  your  bestowing 
Some  twenty  nobles  ^  'mong  her  grace's  servants, 
And  put  on  a  clean  shirt :  you  do  not  know 
What  grace  her  grace  may  do  you  in  clean  linen.^ 

\_Exeunt  Face  and  Dapper. 

Sub.  {within).  Come  in  !    Good  wives,  I  pray  you  forbear 
me  now ; 
Troth  I  can  do  you  no  good  till  afternoon. 

Re-enters,  followed  by  Drugger. 

What  is  your  name,  say  you  —  Abel  Drugger  ? 
Drug.  Yes,  sir. 
Sub.  A  seller  of  tobacco  ■*  ?  510 

1  Words  used  in  incantations. 

2  A  noble  was  worth  6j.  M.  3  The  fairies  insisted  on  cleanliness. 
4  Tobacco  was  introduced  into  England  before  1580. 


136  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  i. 

Drug.     Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  Umph  ! 
Free  of  the  grocers  ^  ? 

Drug.  Ay,  an't  please  you. 

Sub.  Well 

Your  business,  Abel  ? 

Drug.  This,  an't  please  your  worship  ; 
I  am  a  young  beginner,  and  am  building 
Of  a  new  shop,  an't  Hke  your  worship,  just 
At  corner  of  a  street :  —  Here  is  the  plot  ^  on't  —  520 

And  I  would  know  by  art,  sir,  of  your  worship, 
Which  way  I  should  make  my  door,  by  necromancy. 
And  where  my  shelves  :  and  which  should  be  for  boxes, 
And  which  for  pots.     I  would  be  glad  to  thrive,  sir  : 
And  I  was  wish'd  ^  to  your  worship  by  a  gentleman. 
One  Captain  Face,  that  says  you  know  men's  planets, 
And  their  good  angels,  and  their  bad. 

Sub.  I  do. 
If  I  do  see  them 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  What !  my  honest  Abel  ?  530 

Thou  art  well  met  here. 

Drug.  Troth,  sir,  I  was  speaking. 
Just  as  your  worship  came  here,  of  your  worship  : 
I  pray  you,  speak  for  me  to  Master  Doctor. 

Face.  He  shall  do  anything.  —  Doctor,  do  you  hear  ? 
This  is  my  friend,  Abel,  an  honest  fellow ; 
He  lets  me  have  good  tobacco,  and  he  does  not 
Sophisticate  it  with  sack-lees  or  oil. 
Nor  washes  it  in  muscadel  and  grains, 

1  Belonging  to  the  grocers'  guild.  2  plan.  3  Recommended. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   ALCHEMIST.  I37 

Nor  buries  it  in  gravel  underground,  540 

Wrapp'd  up  in  greasy  leather  or  sour  clouts ; 

But  keeps  it  in  fine  lily  pots,  that,  open'd. 

Smell  like  conserve  of  roses  or  French  beans. 

He  has  his  maple  block,  his  silver  tongs, 

Winchester  pipes,  and  fire  of  juniper  :  ^ 

A  neat,  spruce,  honest  fellow,  and  no  goldsmith.^ 

Sub.  He  is  a  fortunate  fellow,  that  I  am  sure  on. 

Face.  Already,  sir,  have  you  found  it  ?     Lo  thee,  Abel ! 

Sub.  And  in  right  way  toward  riches 

Face.  Sir  !  550 

Sub.  This  summer 
He  will  be  of  the  clothing  of  his  company,^ 
And  next  spring  call'd  to  the  scarlet ;  ^  spend  what  he  can. 

Face.  What,  and  so  little  beard  ? 

Sub.  Sir,  you  must  think 
He  may  have  a  receipt  to  make  hair  come  : 
But  he'll  be  wise,  preserve  his  youth,  and  fine  for't ; 
His  fortune  looks  for  him  another  way. 

Face.  'Slid,  doctor,  how  canst  thou  know  this  so  soon  ? 
I  am  amused  at  that !  560 

Sub.  By  a  rule,  captain. 
In  metoposcopy,^  which  I  do  work  by : 
A  certain  star  in  the  forehead,  which  you  see  not. 
Your  chestnut  or  your  olive-colour'd  face 
Does  never  fail ;  and  your  long  ear  doth  promise. 
I  knew't  by  certain  spots,  too,  in  his  teeth, 
And  on  the  nail  of  his  mercurial  finger. 

1  These  were  to  be  found  in  every  well-appointed  tobacconist's  shop : 
the  weed  was  shredded  on  the  maple  block ;  the  tongs  held  the  live  coal, 
which  was  oi  juniper,  whose  coals  burned  a  long  time. 

2  Usurer,  3  Livery  of  the  grocers.  ■*  Be  made  sheriff. 
5  Fortune-telling  by  examining  the  countenance. 


138  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  I. 

Face.  Which  finger's  that? 

Sub.  His  little  finger.     Look. 
You  were  born  upon  a  Wednesday.  570 

Drug.  Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

Sub.  The  thumb,  in  chiromancy,  we  give  Venus ; 
The  fore-finger  to  Jove  ;  the  midst  to  Saturn  ; 
The  ring  to  Sol ;  the  least  to  Mercury, 
Who  was  the  lord,  sir,  of  his  horoscope. 
His  house  of  Hfe  being  Libra ;  which  fore-showed 
He  should  be  a  merchant,  and  should  trade  with  balance. 

Face.  Why,  this  is  strange  !     Is  it  not,  honest  Nab  ? 

Sub.  There  is  a  ship  now  coming  from  Ormus 
That  shall  yield  him  such  a  commodity  580 

Of  drugs.     This  is  the  west,  and  this  the  south? 

\Pointing  to  the  plan. 

Drug.  Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  And  those  are  your  two  sides  ? 

Drug.  Ay,  sir. 

Sub.  Make  me  your  door,  then,  south ;  your  broad  side, 
west : 
And  on  the  east  side  of  your  shop,  aloft, 
Write  Mathlai,  Tarmiel,  and  Baraborat ; 
Upon  the  north  part,  Rael,  Velel,  Thiel. 
They  are  the  names  of  those  mercurial  spirits 
That  do  fright  flies  ^  from  boxes.  590 

Drug.  Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  And 
Beneath  your  threshold  bury  me  a  loadstone 
To  draw  in  gallants  that  wear  spurs  :  the  rest, 
They'll  seem  to  follow. 

Face.  That's  a  secret,  Nab  ! 

1  Familiar  spirits. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  I39 

Sub.  And  on  your  stall,  a  puppet,^  with  a  vice 
And  a  court-fucus  ^  to  call  city-dames  : 
You  shall  deal  much  with  minerals. 

Drug.  Sir,  I  have  600 

At  home,  already 

Sub.  Ay,  I  know  you  have  arsenic, 
Vitriol,  sal-tartar,  argaile,  alkali, 
Cinoper  :  I  know  all.  —  This  fellow,  captain, 
Will  come,  in  time,  to  be  a  great  distiller, 
And  give  assay  —  I  will  not  say  directly. 
But  very  fair  —  at  the  philosopher's  stone. 

Face.  Why,  how  now,  Abel !  is  this  true  ? 

Drug,  {aside  to  Face).  Good  captain, 
What  must  I  give  ?  610 

Face.  Nay,  I'll  not  counsel  thee. 
Thou    hear'st  what   wealth — (he    says,    spend   what    thou 

canst) — 
Thou'rt  like  to  come  to. 

Drug.  I  would  gi'  him  a  crown. 

Face.  A  crown  !  and  toward  such  a  fortune  ?     Heart, 
Thou  shalt  rather  gi'  him  thy  shop.     No  gold  about  thee? 

Drug.  Yes,  I  have  a  portague  ^  I  have  kept  this  half-year. 

Face.  Out  on  thee.  Nab  !    'Slight,  there  was  such  an  offer  — 
Shalt  keep't  no  longer,  I'll  give't  him  for  thee.     Doctor, 
Nab  prays  your  worship  to  drink  this,  and  swears  620 

He  will  appear  more  grateful  as  your  skill 
Does  raise  him  in  the  world. 

Drug.  I  would  entreat 
Another  favour  of  his  worship. 

Face.  Whatis't,  Nab? 

1  In  the  old  morality  plays  a  puppet  was  so  dressed. 

2  Paint  for  the  face.  3  a  Portuguese  gold  coin  worth  ,^3  12J. 


I40  THE   ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  I. 

Drug.  But  to  look  over,  sir,  my  almanac, 
And  cross  out  my  ill  days,  that  I  may  neither 
Bargain  nor  trust  upon  them.^ 

Face.  That  he  shall.  Nab ; 
Leave  it,  it  shall  be  done  'gainst  afternoon.  630 

Sub.  And  a  direction  for  his  shelves. 

Face.  Now,  Nab, 
Art  thou  well  pleased.  Nab  ? 

Drug.  'Thank,  sir,  both  your  worships. 

Face.  Away.  —  \^Exit  Drugger. 

Why,  now,  you  smoky  persecutor  of  nature  ! 
Now  do  you  see  that  something's  to  be  done 
Beside  your  beech- coal  and  your  corsive  waters. 
Your  crosslets,  crucibles,  and  cucurbites  ^  ? 
You  must  have  stuff  brought  home  to  you,  to  work  on  :      640 
And  yet  you  think  I  am  at  no  expense 
In  searching  out  these  veins,  then  following  them. 
Then  trying  them  out.     'Fore  God,  my  intelligence 
Costs  me  more  money  than  my  share  oft  comes  to, 
In  these  rare  works. 

Sub.  You  are  pleasant,  sir. 

Re-enter  Dol. 

How  now  ! 
What  says  my  Dainty  Dolkin? 

Dot.  Yonder  fishwife 
Will  not  away.     And  there's  your  giantess, 
Come  out  of  Lambeth.  650 

Sub.  Heart,  I  cannot  speak  with  them. 

Dol.  Not  afore  night,  I  have  told  them  in  a  voice, 

2  In  the  almanacs  of  that  period  were  set  down  the  days  propitious  and 
unpropitious  for  business. 

3  A  gourd-shaped  vessel  for  distilling. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  14I 

Thorough  the  trunk,  like  one  of  your  familiars. 
But  I  have  spied  Sir  Epicure  Mammon 

Sub.  Where? 

DoL  Coming  along,  at  far  end  of  the  lane, 
Slow  of  his  feet,  but  earnest  of  his  tongue 
To  one  that's  with  him. 

Sub.  Face,  go  you,  and  shift.  \_Exit  Face. 

Dol,  you  must  presently  make  ready  too.  660 

Dol.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Sub.  Oh,  I  did  look  for  him 
With  the  sun's  rising  :  marvel  he  could  sleep  ; 
This  is  the  day  I  am  to  perfect  for  him 
The  magisterium,  our  great  work,  the  stone  ; 
And  yield  it,  made,  into  his  hands  :  of  which  • 
He  has  this  month  talk'd  as  he  were  possess'd. 
And  now  he's  dealing  pieces  on't  away.  — 
Methinks  I  see  him  entering  ordinaries. 
Dispensing  for  the  pox  and  plaguy  houses,  670 

Reaching  his  dose,  walking  Moorfields  for  lepers, 
And  offering  citizens'  wives  pomander  bracelets.^ 
As  his  preservative,  made  of  the  elixir ; 
Searching  the  spital,  to  make  old  bones  young ; 
And  the  highways  for  beggars  to  make  rich  : 
I  see  no  end  of  his  labours.     He  will  make 
Nature  asham'd  of  her  long  sleep  :  when  art. 
Who's  but  a  step-dame,  shall  do  more  than  she. 
In  her  best  love  to  mankind,  ever  could  : 
If  his  dream  lasts,  he'll  turn  the  age  to  gold.     [Exeunt.   680 

1  A  ball,  or  small  box,  of  perfumes  was  carried  in  the  pocket,  or  worn  on 
a  girdle  or  bracelet  (French  pomme  d'ambre). 


142  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  ii. 

ACT   II. 

Scene  I. — An  Outer  Room  in  Lovewit's  House. 
Enter  Sir  Epicure  Mammon  and  Surly. 

Mam.  Come  on,  sir.    Now,  you  set  your  foot  on  shore 
In  Novo  Orbe ;  here's  the  rich  Peru  : 
And  there  within,  sir,  are  the  golden  mines. 
Great  Solomon's  Ophir  !  he  was  sailing  to't. 
Three  years,  but  we  have  reached  it  in  ten  months. 
This  is  the  day  wherein,  to  all  my  friends, 
I  will  pronounce  the  happy  word.  Be  rich  ; 
This  day  you  shall  be  spectatissimi.^ 
You  shall  no  more  deal  with  the  hollow  die 
Or  the  frail  card.^    No  more  be  at  charge  of  keeping  lo 

The  house  of  call  for  the  young  heir.     No  more 
Shall  thirst  of  satin,  or  the  covetous  hunger 
Of  velvet  entrails  for  a  rude-spun  cloak,^ 
To  be  display'd  at  Madam  Augusta's,  make 
The  sons  of  Sword  and  Hazard  fall  before 
The  golden  calf,  and  on  their  knees,  whole  nights, 
Commit  idolatry  with  wine  and  trumpets  : 
Or  go  a  feasting,  after  drum  and  ensign. 
No  more  of  this.     You  shall  start  up  young  viceroys, 
And  unto  thee  I  speak  it  first,  Be  rich.  20 

Where  is  my  Subtle,  there?     Within,  ho  ! 

Face  {ivithin).  Sir,  he'll  come  to  you  by  and  by. 

Mam.  That  is  his  fire-drake, 

1  Most  illustrious.  2  Used  by  dishonest  gamblers. 

3  Cloaks  of  which  the  lining  was  richer  than  the  material. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  143 

His  Lungs,^  his  Zephyrus,  he  that  puffs  his  coals, 

Till  he  firk^  nature  up,  in  her  own  centre. 

You  are  not  faithful,  sir.     This  night  I'll  change 

All  that  is  metal,  in  my  house,  to  gold : 

And  early  in  the  morning  will  I  send 

To  all  the  plumbers  and  the  pewterers. 

And  buy  their  tin  and  lead  up  ;  and  to  Lothbury'  30 

For  all  the  copper. 

Sur.  What,  and  turn  that  too  ? 

Mam.  Yes,  and  I'll  purchase  Devonshire  and  Cornwall,* 
And  make  them  perfect  Indies  !     You  admire  now  ? 

Sur.  No,  faith. 

Mam.  But  when  you  see  th'  effects  of  the  Great  Medicine, 
Of  which  one  part  projercted  on  a  hundred 
Of  Mercury,  or  Venus,  or  the  moon. 
Shall  turn  it  to  as  many  of  the  sun ; 

Nay,  to  a  thousand,  so  ad  infinitum  :  40 

You  will  beUeve  me. 

Sur.  Yes,  when  I  see't  I  will. 
But  if  my  eyes  do  cozen  me  so,  and  I 
Giving  them  no  occasion,  sure  I'll  have 
A  crow  shall  pluck  them  out  next  day. 

Mam.  Ha  !  why? 
Do  you  think  I  fable  with  you?     I  assure  you, 
He  that  has  once  the  flower  of  the  sun, 
The  perfect  ruby,  which  we  call  elixir, 

1  The  apprentice  to  an  alchemist  was  called  Lungs,  because  he  blew  the 
bellows. 

2  Stir,  strike  (Latin  y^r/V?). 

3  Stow,  in  his  account  of  London  (p.  287),  says  that  Lothbury  is  "  inhab- 
ited chiefly  by  founders,  that  cast  candlesticks,  chafing-dishes,  spice  mortars, 
and  such-like  copper  works." 

4  That  is,  convert  their  minerals  to  gold. 


144  'T^E  ALCHEMIST.  [act  ii. 

Not  only  can  do  that,  but  by  its  virtue  50 

Can  confer  honour,  love,  respect,  long  life ; 

Give  safety,  valour,  yea,  and  victory, 

To  whom  he  will.     In  eight  and  twenty  days, 

I'll  make  an  old  man  of  fourscore  a  child. 

Sur.  No  doubt ;  he's  that  already. 

Mam.  Nay,  I  mean. 
Restore  his  years,  renew  him,  like  an  eagle. 
To  the  fifth  age ;  make  him  get  sons  and  daughters. 
Young  giants ;  as  our  philosophers  have  done. 
The  ancient  patriarchs,  afore  the  flood,  60 

But  taking,  once  a  week,  on  a  knife's  point. 
The  quantity  of  a  grain  of  mustard  of  it ; 
Become^  stout  Marses,  and  beget  young  Cupids. 

Sur.  The  decay'd  vestals  of  Pickt-hatch  ^  would  thank  you. 
That  keep  the  fire  alive  there. 

Mam.  'Tis  the  secret 
Of  nature  naturized^  'gainst  all  infections. 
Cures  all  diseases  coming  of  all  causes ; 
A  month's  grief  in  a  day,  a  year's  in  twelve ; 
And  of  what  age  soever,  in  a  month  :  70 

Past  all  the  doses  of  your  drugging  doctors. 
I'll  undertake,  withal,  to  fright  the  plague^ 
Out  of  the  kingdom  in  three  months. 

Sur.  And  I'll 

1  A  place* of  vile  repute  (in  Trumbull  Street,  Cow  Cross,  Clerkenwell) , 
where  attacks  of  bullies  made  a  pickt-hatch,  or  a  half-door  armed  with 
spikes,  a  necessary  defence.  —  R.  G.  White.  Cf.  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor, 
ii,  2. 

2  The  Schoolmen  distinguished  between  Natura  naturans,  God  the  Crea- 
tor, and  natura  naturata,  the  universe  created. 

3  There  had  been  a  severe  plague  in  1602,  and  the  theatres  had  been 
closed. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  I4t; 

Be  bound,  the  players  shall  sing  your  praises  then, 
Without  their  poets. 

Mam.  Sir,  I'll  do't.     Meantime, 
I'll  give  away  so  much  unto  my  man 
Shall  serve  the  whole  city  with  preservative 
Weekly ;  each  house  his  dose,  and  at  the  rate •  80 

Sur.  As  he  that  built  the  waterworks  does  with  water? 

Mam.  You  are  incredulous. 

Sur.  Faith,  I  have  a  humour 
I  would  not  willingly  be  gull'd.     Your  stone 
Cannot  transmute  me. 

Mam.  Pertinax  Surly, 
Will  you  believe  antiquity?  records? 
I'll  show  you  a  book  where  Mosei:  and  his  sister. 
And  Solomon  have  written  of  the  art ;  ^ 
Ay,  and  a  treatise  penn'd  by  Adam 90 

Sur.  How  ! 

Mam.  Of  the  philosopher's  stone,  and  in  High  Dutch. 

Sur.  Did  Adam  write,  sir,  in  High  Dutch? 

Mam.  He  did  ;  ^ 
Which  proves  it  was  the  primitive  tongue. 

Sur.  What  paper? 

Mam.  On  cedar  board. 

Sur.  Oh,  that  indeed,  they  say 
Will  last  'gainst  worms. 

Mam.  '  Tis  like  your  Irish  wood  100 

'Gainst  cobwebs.     I  have  a  piece  of  Jason's  fleece  too. 
Which  was  no  other  than  a  book  of  alchemy. 
Writ  in  large  sheepskin,  a  good  fat  ram-vellum. 

1  Bulmer  constructed  waterworks  for  London  in  1595. 

2  Fabricius,  in  a  work  on  writers  on  chemistry,  included  these. 
8  This  absurdity  was  affirmed  by  Goropius  Becanus. 


146  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  li. 

Such  was  Pythagoras'  thigh,  Pandora's  tub, 

And  all  that  fable  of  Medea's  charms, 

The  manner  of  our  work ;  the  bulls,  our  furnace. 

Still  breathing  fire  ;  our  argent-vive,  the  dragon  : 

The  dragon's  teeth,  mercury  sublimate. 

That  keeps  the  whiteness,  hardness,  and  the  biting ; 

And  they  are  gather'd  into  Jason's  helm,  no 

The  alembic,  and  then  sow'd  in  Mars  his  field, 

And  thence  sublimed  so  often,  till  they're  fix'd. 

Both  this,  the  Hesperian  garden,  Cadmus'  story, 

Jove's  shower,  the  boon  of  Midas,  Argus'  eyes, 

Boccace  his  Demogorgon,  thousands  more. 

All  abstract  riddles  of  our  stone.  — 

Enter  Face  as  a  Servant. 

How  now  ! 
Do  we  succeed?     Is  our  day  come?  and  holds  it? 

Face.  The  evening  will  set  red  upon  you,  sir ; 
You  have  colour  for  it,  crimson^ :  the  red  ferment 
Has  done  his  office  ;  three  hours  hence  prepare  you  120 

To  see  projection. 

Mam.  Pertinax,  my  Surly, 
Again  I  say  to  thee  aloud.  Be  rich. 
This  day  thou  shalt  have  ingots ;  and  to-morrow 
Give  lords  th'  affront.^ — Is  it,  my  Zephyrus,  right? 
Blushes  the  bolt's  head? 

Face.  Aye. 

Mam.  My  only  care  is, 

1  Crimson  was  the  color  reached  in  the  last  stage  before  the  base  metal 
was  projected. 

2  Meet,  and  look  in  the  face. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  147 

Where  to  get  stuff  enough  now  to  project  on ; 

This  town  will  not  half  serve  me.  130 

Face.  No,  sir  !    Buy 
The  covering  off  o'  churches. 

Mam.  That's  true. 

Face.  Yes. 
Let  them  stand  bare,  as  do  their  auditory ; 
Or  cap  them,  new,  with  shingles. 

Mam.  No,  good  thatch  : 
Thatch  will  lie  light  upon  the  rafters,  Lungs.  — 
Lungs,  I  will  manumit  thee  from  the  furnace. 
I  will  restore  thee  thy  complexion,  Puff,  140 

Lost  in  the  embers  ;  and  repair  this  brain, 
Hurt  with  the  fume  o'  the  metals. 

Face.  I  have  blown,  sir, 
Hard  for  your  worship  ;  thrown  by  many  a  coal, 
When  'twas  not  beech  ^ ;  weigh'd  those  I  put  in,  just. 
To  keep  your  heat  still  even ;  these  bleared  eyes 
Have  waked  to  read  your  several  colours,  sir, 
Of  the  pale  citron,  the  green  lion,  the  crow, 
The  peacock's  tail,  the  plumed  swan.^ 

Mam.  And,  lastly,  150 

Thou  hast  descried  the  flower,  the  sanguis  agni  ? 

Face.  Yes,  sir. 

Mam.  Where's  master? 

Face.  At  his  prayers,  sir,  he ; 
Good  man,  he's  doing  his  devotions 
For  the  success. 

Mam.  Lungs,  I  will  set  a  period 
To  all  thy  labours  ;  thou  shalt  be  the  master 

1  Alchemists  always  used  charcoal  made  from  beechwood. 

2  Alchemists  attributed  peculiar  virtues  to  these. 


148  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  ii. 

Of  my  seraglio. 

Face.  Good,  sir.  160 

Mam.  For  I  do  mean 
To  have  a  list  of  wives  and  concubines 
Equal  with  Solomon,  who  had  the  stone 
Alike  with  me ;  and  I  will  make  me  a  back 
With  the  elixir,  tough  as  Hercules. 
Thou  art  sure  thou  saw'st  it  blood  ?  ^ 

Face.  Both  blood  and  spirit,  sir. 

Mam.  I  will  have  all  my  beds  blown  up,  not  stuft :  ' 

Down  is  too  hard :  and  then,  mine  oval  room 
Fill'd  with  such  pictures  as  Tiberius  took  170 

From  Elephantis,  and  dull  Aretine 
But  coldly  imitated.     Then,  my  glasses 
Cut  in  more  subtle  angles,  to  disperse 
And  multiply  the  figures,  as  I  walk. 
My  mists  of  perfume,  vapoured  'bout  the  room, 
To  lose  ourselves  in ;  and  my  baths,  like  pits 
To  fall  into  ;  from  whence  we  will  come  forth, 
And  roll  us  dry  in  gossamer  and  roses.  — 
Is  it  arrived  at  ruby?^ — Where  I  spy 

A  wealthy  citizen,  or  a  rich  lawyer,  180 

Have  a  sublimed  pure  wife,  unto  that  fellow 
I'll  send  a  thousand  pound  to  make  her  mine. 

Face.  And  I  shall  carry  it? 

Mam.  No.     I'll  have  no  aids,^ 

1  The  propitious  color. 

2  "  The  judgment  is  perfectly  overwhelmed  by  the  torrent  of  images, 
words,  and  book-knowledge  with  which  Mammon  confounds  and  stuns  his 
incredulous  hearer.  They  come  pouring  out  like  the  successive  strokes  of 
Nilus.  They  '  doubly  redouble  strokes  upon  the  foe.'  Description  out- 
strides  proof.  We  are  made  to  believe  effects  before  we  have  testimony  for 
their  causes,  as  a  lively  description  of  the  joys  of  heaven  sometimes  passes 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  149 

But  fathers  and  mothers ;  they  will  do  it  best, 

Best  of  all  others.     And  my  flatterers 

Shall  be  the  pure  and  gravest  of  divines 

That  I  can  get  for  money.     My  mere  fools, 

Eloquent  burgesses ;  and  then  my  poets, 

The  same  that  writ  so  subtly  of  foul  wind,  190 

Whom  I  will  entertain  still  for  that  subject. 

The  few  that  would  give  out  themselves  to  be 

Court  and  town  rakes,  and  everywhere  belie 

Ladies  who  are  known  most  innocent  for  them, 

Those  will  I  beg  to  make  me  eunuchs  of; 

And  they  shall  fan  me  with  ten  ostrich  tails 

Apiece,  made  in  a  plume  to  gather  wind. 

We  will  be  brave,  Puff,  now  we  have  the  med'cine. 

My  meat  shall  all  come  in  in  Indian  shells. 

Dishes  of  agate  set  in  gold,  and  studded  200 

With  emeralds,  sapphires,  hyacinths  and  rubies. 

The  tongues  of  carps,  dormice,  and  camels'  heels, 

Boiled  in  the  spirit  of  Sol  and  dissolv'd  pearl, 

Apicius'  diet,  'gainst  the  epilepsy  : 

And  I  will  eat  these  broths  with  spoons  of  amber/ 

Headed  with  diamond  and  carbuncle. 

for  an  argument  to  prove  the  existence  of  such  a  place.  If  there  be  no  one 
image  which  rises  to  the  height  of  the  sublime,  yet  the  confluence  and 
assemblage  of  them  all  produce  an  effect  equal  to  the  grandest  poetry. 
Xerxes's  army,  that  drank  up  whole  rivers  from  their  numbers,  may  stand 
for  single  Achilles.  Epicure  Mammon  is  the  most  determined  offspring  of 
the  author.  It  has  the  whole  '  matter  and  copy  of  the  father,  eye,  nose,  lip, 
and  trick  of  his  frown.'  It  is  just  such  a  swaggerer  as  contemporaries  have 
described  Ben  to  be.  Mammon  is  arrogant  pretension  personified.  What 
a '  tow'ring  bravery '  there  is  in  his  sensuality !  He  affects  no  pleasure  under 
a  sultan.  It  is  as  if  '  Egypt  with  Assyria  strove  in  luxury.' "  —  Charles 
Lamb. 

1  Spoons  then  had  rich  ornaments  set  in  them. 


150  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

My  foot-boy  shall  eat  pheasants,  calvered^  salmons, 

Knots,^  godwits,^  lampreys  :  I  myself  will  have 

The  beards  of  barbels  served  instead  of  salads ; 

Oiled  mushrooms,  and  the  swelHng  unctuous  paps  210 

Of  a  fat  pregnant  sow,  newly  cut  off, 

Brest  with  an  exquisite  and  poignant  sauce ; 

For  which  I'll  say  unto  my  cook,   There' s  gold : 

Go  forth,  and  be  a  knight^ 

Face.  Sir,  I'll  go  look 
A  little  how  it  heightens.  \^Exit. 

Mam.  Do.  —  My  shirts 
I'll  have  of  taffeta- sarsnet,  soft  and  light 
As  cobwebs  ;  and  for  all  my  other  raiment, 
It  shall  be  such  as  might  provoke  the  Persian,  220 

Were  he  to  teach  the  world  riot  anew. 
My  gloves  of  fishes'  and  birds'  skins,  perfumed 
With  gums  of  paradise  and  eastern  air 

Sur.  And  do  you  think  to  have  the  stone  with  this  ? 

Mam.  No,  I  do  think  t'  have  all  this  with  the  stone. 

Sur.  Why,  I  have  heard  he  must  be  homo  frugi, 
A  pious,  holy,  and  religious  man, 
One  free  from  mortal  sin,  a  very  virgin. 

Mam.  That  makes  it,  sir ;  he  is  so  :  but  I  buy  it ; 
My  venture  brings  it  me.     He,  honest  wretch,  230 

A  notable,  superstitious,  good  soul. 
Has  worn  his  knees  bare  and  his  slippers  bald 
With  prayer  and  fasting  for  it :  and,  sir,  let  him 
Do  it  alone,  for  me,  still.     Here  he  comes. 

1  Cut  in  slices.    See  Walton's  Complete  Angler. 

2  These  were  birds  of  the  snipe  species. 

3  A  hit  at  the  recent  creation  of  a  large  batch  of  knights  by  James  I,  at 
his  accession  to  the  throne  in  1603. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  151 

Not  a  profane  word  afore  him  :  'tis  poison.  — 
Enter  Subtle. 

Good-morrow,  father. 

Sub.  Gentle  son,  good-morrow. 
And  to  your  friend  there.     What  is  he,  is  with  you  ? 

Mam.  An  heretic,  that  I  did  bring  along. 
In  hope,  sir,  to  convert  him.  240 

Sub.  Son,  I  doubt 
You  are  covetous,  that  thus  you  meet  your  time 
In  the  just  point :  prevent  your  day  at  morning.^ 
This  argues  something  worthy  of  a  fear 
Of  importune  and  carnal  appetite. 
Take  heed  you  do  not  cause  the  blessing  leav<"  you, 
With  your  ungovern'd  haste.     I  should  be  sorry 
To  see  my  labours,  now  even  at  perfection. 
Got  by  long  watching  and  large  patience. 
Not  prosper  where  my  love  and  zeal  hath  placed  them.     250 
Which  (heaven  I  call  to  witness,  with  yourself, 
To  whom  I  have  poured  my  thoughts)  in  all  my  ends 
Have  look'd  no  way  but  unto  public  good. 
To  pious  uses,  and  dear  charity, 
Now  grown  a  prodigy  with  men.     Wherein 
If  you,  my  son,  should  now  prevaricate. 
And  to  your  own  particular  lusts  employ 
So  great  and  catholic  a  bliss,  be  sure 
A  curse  will  follow,  yea,  and  overtake 
Your  subtle  and  most  secret  ways.  260 

Mam.  I  know,  sir ; 
You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me  :  I  but  come 
To  have  you  confute  this  gentleman. 

1  Anticipate. 


152  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

Sur.  Who  is, 
Indeed,  sir,  somewhat  costive  of  beUef 
Toward  your  stone  ;  would  not  be  gulled. 

Sub.  Well,  son. 
All  that  I  can  convince  him  in  is  this. 
The  WORK  IS  DONE,  bright  Sol  is  in  his  robe. 
We  have  a  medicine  of  the  triple  soul,  270 

The  glorified  spirit.     Thanks  be  to  heaven. 
And  make  us  worthy  of  it !  —  lElen;  ^pijegcl !  * 

Face  {within).  Anon,  sir. 

Sub.  Look  well  to  the  register. 
And  let  your  heat  still  lessen  by  degrees, 
To  the  aludels.^ 

Face  {within).  Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  Did  you  look 
O' the  bolt's  head ^  yet? 

Face  {within).  Which?     On  D,  sir?  280 

Sub.  Ay; 
What's  the  complexion? 

Face  {within).  Whitish. 

Sub.  Infuse  vinegar, 
To  draw  his  volatile  substance  and  his  tincture : 
And  let  the  water  in  glass  E  be  filter'd, 
And  put  into  the  gripe 's-egg.*     Lute  him  well. 
And  leave  him  closed  in  balneo.^ 

Face  {within).  I  will,  sir. 

1  A  notorious  rogue,  lived  in  Saxony  about  1480.    The  words  mean  Owl 
Glass. 

2  Subliming  pots  without  bottoms,  fitted  into  each  other  without  luting. 

3  A  long-necked  vessel,  conical  in  shape. 
■*  A  vessel  shaped  like  a  vulture's  egg. 

5  Balneum  means  bath  ;  in  alchemy,  to  heat  a  vessel  by  immersing  it  in 
hot  water  or  sand. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  153 

Sur.  What  a  brave  language  here  is  !   Next  to  canting.  290 

Sub.  I  have  another  work,  you  never  saw,  son. 
That  three  days  since  passed  the  philosopher's  wheel  ^ 
In  the  lent  ^  heat  of  Athanor,  and's  become 
Sulphur  of  Nature.^ 

Mam.  But  'tis  for  me? 

Sub.  What  need  you? 
You  have  enough  in  that  is  perfect. 

Mam.  Oh,  but 

Sub.  Why,  this  is  covetise  ! 

Afam.  No,  I  assure  you,  300 

I  shall  employ  it  all  in  pious  uses. 
Founding  of  colleges  and  grammar  schools, 
Marrying  young  virgins,  building  hospitals, 
And  now  and  then  a  church. 

Re-enter  Face. 

Sub.  How  now  ! 

Face.  Sir,  please  you. 
Shall  I  not  change  the  filter? 

Sub.  Marry,  yes ; 
And  bring  me  the  complexion  of  glass  B.  \^Exit  Face. 

Mam.  Have  you  another?  310 

Sub.  Yes,  son  ;  were  I  assured 
Your  piety  were  firm,  we  would  not  want 
The  means  to  glorify  it ;  but  I  hope  the  best.  — 
1  mean  to  tinct  C  in  sand- heat  to-morrow, 
And  give  him  imbibition. 

Mam.  Of  white  oil? 


1  To  have  passed  this  was  a  favorable  sign. 

2  Slow.  3  Digesting  furnace. 


154  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  II. 

Sub.  No,  sir,  of  red.     F  is  come  over  to  the  helm  too, 
I  thank  my  Maker,  in  St.  Mary's  bath,^  • 

And  shows  lac  virginis.     Blessed  be  heaven  ! 
I  sent  you  of  his  faeces  there  calcined  :  320 

Out  of  that  calx  I  have  won  the  salt  of  mercury. 

Mam.  By  pouring  on  your  rectified  water? 

Sub.  Yes,  and  reverberating  ^  in  Athanor. 

Re-enter  Face. 

How  now  !  what  colour  says  it  ? 

Face.  The  ground  black,  sir. 

Mam.  That's  your  crow's  head?^ 

Sur.  Your  cock's-comb's,  is  it  not? 

Sub.  No,  'tis  not  perfect.     Would  it  were  the  crow  ! 
That  work  wants  something. 

Sur.  Oh,  I  looked  for  this.  330 

The  hay's  ^  a  pitching. 

Sub.  Are  you  sure  you  loosed  them 
In  their  own  menstrue? 

Face.  Yes,  sir,  and  then  married  them, 
And  put  them  in  a  bolt's-head  nipp'd  to  digestion. 
According  as  you  bade  me  when  I  set 
The  liquor  of  Mars  to  circulation 
In  the  same  heat. 

Sub.  The-process  then  was  right. 

Face.  Yes,  by  the  token,  sir,  the  retort  brake,  340 

And  what  was  saved  was  put  into  the  pelican, 

1  Where  one  vessel  was  placed  in  another  containing  water. 

2  To  heat,  by  beating  back  the  flames  from  the  top  upon  the  material 
below. 

3  Another  hopeful  sign. 

•*  A  net  for  catching  rabbits,  by  stretching  it  before  their  burrows. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 55 

And  signed  with  Hermes'  seal.^ 

Sub.  I  think  'twas  so. 
We  should  have  a  new  amalgama. 

Sur.  {aside) .  Oh,  this  ferret  ^ 
Is  rank  as  any  pole-cat. 

Sud.  But  I  care  not : 
Let  him  e'en  die ;  we  have  enough  beside, 
In  embrion.     H  has  his  white  shirt  on. 

J^ace.  Yes,  sir,  350 

He's  ripe  for  inceration,  he  stands  warm 
In  his  ash- fire:     I  would  not  you  should  let 
Any  die  now,  if  I  might  counsel,  sir, 
For  luck's  sake  to  the  rest :  it  is  not  good. 

Mam.  He  says  right. 

Sur.  {aside).  Ay,  are  you  bolted?^ 

Face.  Nay,  I  know't,  sir, 
I  have  seen  the  ill  fortune.     What  is  some  three  ounces 
Of  fresh  materials  ? 

Mam.  Is't  no  more?  360 

Face.  No  more,  sir, 
Of  gold,  t'amalgame  with  som.e  six  of  mercury. 

Mam.  Away,  here's  money.     What  will  serve? 

Face.  Ask  him,  sir. 

Mam.  How  much? 

Sub.  Give  him  nine  pound  —  you  may  give  him  ten. 

Sur.  Yes,  twenty,  and  be  cozen'd  —  do. 

Mam.  There  'tis.  \_Gives  Face  the  money. 

Sub.  This  needs  not ;  but  that  you  will  have  it  so, 
To  see  conclusions  of  all ;  for  two  370 

^  Made  by  heating  the  neck  of  a  vessel,  and  then  twisting  it. 

2  Face,  having  just  come  from  working  over  the  fire,  has  red  eyes. 

8  Punning  allusion  to  the  rabbit-net  a.nd  ferret. 


156  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

Of  our  inferior  works  are  at  fixation,^ 
A  third  is  in  ascension.     Go  your  ways. 
Have  you  set  the  oil  of  luna  in  kemia  ? 

Face.  Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  And  the  philosopher's  vinegar? 

Face.  Ay.  \^Exit. 

Sur.  We  shall  have  a  salad  ! 

Mafn.  When  do  you  make  projection? 

Sub.  Son,  be  not  hasty,  I  exalt  our  med'cine. 
By  hanging  him  in  balneo  vaporoso,  380 

And  giving  him  solution ;  then  congeal  him  ; 
And  then  dissolve  him  ;  then  again  congeal  him  : 
For  look,  how  oft  I  iterate  the  work 
So  many  times  I  add  unto  his  virtue. 
As,  if  at  first  one  ounce  convert  a  hundred. 
After  his  second  loose,  he'll  turn  a  thousand ; 
His  third  solution,  ten ;  his  fourth,  a  hundred ; 
After  his  fifth,  a  thousand  thousand  ounces 
Of  any  imperfect  metal,  into  pure 

Silver  or  gold,  in  all  examinations,  390 

As  good  as  any  of  the  natural  mine. 
Get  you  your  stuff  here  against  afternoon, 
Your  brass,  your  pewter,  and  your  andirons. 

Mam.  Not  those  of  iron? 

Sub.  Yes,  you  may  bring  them  too  : 
We'll  change  all  metals. 

Sur.  I  believe  you  in  that. 

Mam.  Then  I  may  send  my  spits? 

Sub.  Yes,  and  your  racks. 

Sur.  And  dripping  pans,  and  po*-hangers,  and  hooks,   400 
Shall  he  not? 

1  In  a  non-volatile  state. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  157 

Sub.  If  he  please. 

Sur.  —  To  be  an  ass. 

Sub.  How,  sir  ! 

Mam.  This  gentleman  you  must  bear  withal : 
I  told  you  he  had  no  faith. 

Sur.  And  little  hope,  sir ; 
But  much  less  charity,  should  I  gull  myself. 

Sub.  Why,  what  have  you  observed,  sir,  in  our  art. 
Seems  so  impossible  ?  410 

Sur.  But  your  whole  work,  no  more. 
That  you  should  hatch  gold  in  a  furnace,  sir. 
As  they  do  eggs  in  Egypt ! 

Sub.  Sir,  do  you 
Believe  that  eggs  are  hatched  so? 

Sur.  If  I  should? 

Sub.  Why,  I  think  that  the  greater  miracle. 
No  ^g%  but  differs  from  a  chicken  more 
Than  metals  in  themselves. 

Sur.  That  cannot  be.  420 

The  egg's  ordained  by  nature  to  that  end, 
And  is  a  chicken  in  potentia. 

Sub.  The  same  we  say  of  lead  and  other  metals, 
Which  would  be  gold  if  they  had  time. 

Mam.  And  that 
Our  art  doth  further. 

Sub.  Ay,  for  'twere  absurd 
To  think  that  nature  in  the  earth  bred  gold 
Perfect  in  the  instant ;  something  went  before. 
There  must  be  remote  matter.  43° 

Sur.  Ay,  what  is  that? 

Sub.  Marry,  we  say  — 

Mam.  Ay,  now  it  heats  :  stand,  father, 


158  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

Pound  him  to  dust. 

Sub.  It  is,  of  the  one  part, 
A  humid  exhalation,  which  we  call 
Materia  liquida,  or  the  unctuous  water ; 
On  the  other  part,  a  certain  crass  and  vicious 
Portion  of  earth  ;  both  which,  concorporate, 
Do  make  the  elementary  matter  of  gold  j  440 

Which  is  not  yet  propria  materia^ 
But  common  to  all  metals  and  all  stones ; 
For,  where  it  is  forsaken  of  that  moisture. 
And  hath  more  dryness,  it  becomes  a  stone ; 
Where  it  retains  more  of  the  humid  fatness. 
It  turns  to  sulphur  or  to  quicksilver. 
Who  are  the  parents  of  all  other  metals. 
Nor  can  this  remote  matter  suddenly 
Progress  so  from  extreme  unto  extreme. 
As  to  grow  gold,  and  leap  o'er  all  the  means.  450 

Nature  doth  first  beget  the  imperfect,  then 
Proceeds  she  to  the  perfect.     Of  that  airy 
And  oily  water,  mercury  is  engendered ; 
Sulphur  of  the  fat  and  earthy  part ;  the  one. 
Which  is  the  last,  supplying  the  place  of  male. 
The  other  of  the  female,  in  all  metals. 
Some  do  believe  hermaphrodeity. 
That  both  do  act  and  suffer.     But  these  two 
Make  the  rest  ductile,  malleable,  extensive. 
And  even  in  gold  they  are  ;  for  we  do  find  460 

Seeds  of  them,  by  our  fire,  and  gold  in  them ; 
And  can  produce  the  species  of  each  metal 
More  perfect  thence,  than  Nature  doth  in  earth. 
Beside,  who  doth  not  see  in  daily  practice 
Art  can  beget  bees,  hornets,  beetles,  wasps, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 59 

Out  of  the  carcases  and  dung  of  creatures  ; 
Yea,  scorpions  of  an  herb,  being  rightly  placed  ? 
And  these  are  living  creatures,  far  more  perfect 
And  excellent  than  metals. 

Mam.  Well  said,  father  !  470 

Nay,  if  he  take  you  in  hand,  sir,  with  an  argument. 
He'll  bray  you  in  mortar. 

Sur.  Pray  you,  sir,  stay. 
Rather  than  I'll  be  bray'd,  sir,  I'll  beheve 
That  Alchemy  is  a  pretty  kind  of  game. 
Somewhat  hke  tricks  o'  the  cards,  to  cheat  a  man 
With  charming. 

Sub.  Sir? 

Sur.  What  else  are  all  your  terms. 
Whereon  no  one  of  your  writers  'grees  with  other  ?  480 

Of  your  ehxir,  your  lac  virginis, 
Your  stone,  your  med'cine,  and  your  chrysosperme. 
Your  sal,  your  sulphur,  and  your  mercury. 
Your  oil  of  height,  your  tree  of  life,  your  blood. 
Your  marchesite,  your  tutie,  your  magnesia. 
Your  toad,  your  crow,  your  dragon,  and  your  panther ; 
Your  sun,  your  moon,  your  firmament,  your  adrop. 
Your  lato,  azoch,  zemich,  chibrit,  heautarit. 
And  then  your  red  man  and  your  white  woman. 
With  all  your  broths,  your  menstrues,  and  materials,  490 

Of  lye  and  egg-shells,  women's  terms,  man's  blood. 
Hair  o'  the  head,  burnt  clouts,  chalk,  merds,  and  clay, 
Powder  of  bones,  scalings  of  iron,  glass. 
And  worlds  of  other  strange  ingredients, 
Would  burst  a  man  to  name  ?  ^ 

1  It  would  be  time  wasted  to  rummage  the  old  works  on  alchemy  for  an 
explanation  of  all  these  terms,  which  were  doubtless  as  strange  to  the  major- 


l6o  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  ii. 

Sub.  And  all  these  named, 
Intending  but  one  thing ;  which  art  our  writers 
Used  to  obscure  their  art. 

Mam.  Sir,  so  I  told  him  — 
Because  the  simple  idiot  should  not  learn  it,  500 

And  make  it  vulgar. 

Sub.  Was  not  all  the  knowledge 
Of  the  Egyptians  writ  in  mystic  symbols  ? 
Speak  not  the  Scriptures  oft  in  parables  ? 
Are  not  the  choicest  fables  of  the  poets, 
That  were  the  fountains  and  first  springs  of  wisdom, 
Wrapp'd  in  perplexed  allegories  ? 

Mam.  I  urged  that, 
.And  cleared  to  him  that  Sisyphus  was  damned 
To  roll  the  ceaseless  stone,  only  because  510 

He  would  have  made  ours  common.   [Dol  appears  at  the  door. 

Who  is  this  ? 

Stib.  'Sprecious  !  —  What  do  you  mean  ?   Go  in,  good  lady, 
Let  me  entreat  you.   (Dol  retires.)     Where's  this  varlet? 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  Sir. 

Sub.  You  very  knave  !  do  you  use  me  thus  ? 

Face.  Wherein,  sir? 

Sub.  Go  in  and  see,  you  traitor.     Go  !  \_Exit  Face. 

Mam.  Who  is  it,  sir? 

Sub.  Nothing,  sir;  nothing. 

Mam.  What's  the  matter,  good  sir?  520 

I  have  not  seen  you  thus  distemper'd  :  who  is't? 

Sub.  All  arts  have  still  had,  sir,  their  adversaries. 
But  ours  the  most  ignorant. 

ity  of  play-goers  in  Jonson's  time  as  they  are  to  us ;  the  more  common  and 
important  are  explained  in  the  course  of  the  play. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  l6l 

Re-enter  Face. 
What  now? 

Face.  'Twas  not  my  fault,  sir ;    she  would  speak  with  you. 

Sub.  Would  she,  sir  !     Follow  me.  \Exit. 

Mam.  {stopping  him) .  Stay,  Lungs. 

Face.  I  dare  not,  sir. 

Mam.  Stay,  man ;  what  is  she  ? 

Face.  A  lord's  sister,  sir.  530 

Mam.  How  !  pray  the",  stay. 

Face.  She's  mad,  sir,  and  sent  hither  — 
He'll  be  mad  too 

Mam.  I  warrant  thee. 
Why  sent  hither? 

Face.  Sir,  to  be  cured. 

Sub.  {within) .  Why,  rascal ! 

Face.  Lo  you  !  —  Here,  sir  !  {^Exit. 

Mam.  'Fore  God,  a  Bradamante,^  a  brave  piece. 

Sur.  Heart,  this  is  an  evil  house  !    I  will  be  burnt  else.  540 

Mam.  Oh,  by  this  light,  no  ;  do  not  wrong  him.     He's 
Too  scrupulous  that  way  :  it  is  his  vice. 
No,  he's  a  rare  physician,  do  him  right, 
An  excellent  Paracelsian,^  and  has  done 
Strange  cures  with  mineral  physic.     He  deals  all 
With  spirits,  he ;  he  will  not  hear  a  word 
Of  Galen  or  his  tedious  recipes. 

Re-enter  Face. 
How  now.  Lungs  ! 

1  A  Christian  amazon,  sister  to  Rinaldo,  and  mistress  of  Ruggiero,  in 
Boiardo's  Orlando  Innamorato,  and  Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso.  She  pos- 
sessed an  irresistible  spear,  which  unhorsed  all  her  antagonists.  — 
Wheeler:  Noted  Names  of  Fiction. 

2  Paracelsus  was  born  in  1493  and  died  in  1541. 


l62  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

Face.  Softly,  sir ;  speak  softly.     I  meant 
To  have  told  your  worship  all.     This  must  not  hear.  550 

Mam.  No,  he  will  not  be  "  gull'd  "  :  let  him  alone. 

Face.  You  are  very  right,  sir ;  she  is  a  most  rare  scholar, 
And  is  gone  mad  with  studying  Broughton's  works.^ 
If  you  but  name  a  word  touching  the  Hebrew 
She  falls  into  her  fit,  and  will  discourse 
So  learnedly  of  genealogies. 
As  you  would  run  mad,  too,  to  hear  her,  sir. 

Mam.  How  might  one  do  t'have  conference  with   her, 
Lungs  ? 

Face.  Oh,  divers  have  run  mad  upon  the  conference  : 
I  do  not  know,  sir.     I  am  sent  in  haste  560 

To  fetch  a  vial. 

Sur.  Be  not  gull'd.  Sir  Mammon. 

Mam.  Wherein?     Pray  ye,  be  patient. 

Sur.  Yes,  as  you  are. 
And  trust  confederate  knaves  and  sharks  and  bawds. 

Mam.  You  are  too  foul,  believe  it.  —  Come  here,  Ulen, 
One  word. 

Face.  I  dare  not,  in  good  faith.  \_Going. 

Mam.  Stay,  knave. 

Face.  He  is  extreme  angry  that  you  saw  her,  sir.  570 

Mam.  Drink  that  {gives  him  money).     What  is  she  when 
she's  out  of  her  fit  ? 

Face.  Oh,  the  most  affablest  creature,  sir  !     So  merry  ! 
So  pleasant !     She'll  mount  you  up  like  quicksilver 
Over  the  helm,  and  circulate  like  oil, 
A  very  vegetal ;  discourse  of  state. 
Of  mathematics,  frolic,  anything 

Mam.  Is  she  no  way  accessible?  no  means, 

1  A  celebrated  divine  and  Hebrew  scholar  in  Elizabeth's  time. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  163 

No  trick  to  give  a  man  a  taste  of  her  wit  — 
Or  so? 

Sub.  (ivifhtn).  Ulen  !  580 

Face.  I'll  come  to  you  again,  sir.  \_Exit. 

Mam.  Surly,  I  did  not  think  one  of  your  breeding 
Would  traduce  personages  of  worth. 

Sur.  Sir  Epicure, 
Your  friend  to  use  ;  yet  still  loth  to  be  gulled  : 
I  do  not  like  your  philosophical  bawds. 
Their  stone  is  lechery  enough  to  pay  for 
Without  this  bait. 

Mam.  'Heart,  you  abuse  yourself. 
I  know  the  lady,  and  her  friends,  and  means,  590 

The  original  of  this  disaster.     Her  brother 
Has  told  me  all. 

Sur.  And  yet  you  never  saw  her 
Till  now  ! 

Mam.  Oh  yes,  but  I  forgot.     I  have,  believe  it. 
One  of  the  treacherousest  memories,  I  do  thinks 
Of  all  mankind. 

Sur.  What  call  you  her  brother  ? 

Matn.  My  lord 

He  will  not  have  his  name  known,  now  I  think  on  it.         600 

Sur.  A  very  treacherous  memory  ! 

Mam.  On  my  faith 

Sur.  Tut,  if  you  have  it  not  about  you,  pass  it 
Till  we  meet  next. 

Mam.  Nay,  by  this  hand,  'tis  true. 
He's  one  I  honour,  and  my  noble  friend ; 
And  I  respect  his  house. 

Sur.  Heart !  can  it  be 
That  a  grave  sir,  a  rich,  that  has  no  need, 


164  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

A  wise,  sir,  too,  at  other  times,  should  thus,  610 

With  his  own  oaths  and  arguments,  make  hard  means 

To  gull  himself?     An  this  be  your  elixir, 

Your  lapis  mineralis  and  your  lunary, 

Give  me  your  honest  trick  yet  at  primero. 

Or  gleek  :  ^  and  take  your  luium  sapieniis^ 

Your  menstruum  simplex!     I'll  have  gold  before  you. 

And  with  less  danger  of  the  quicksilver 

Or  the  hot  sulphur. 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  Here's  one  from  Captain  Face,  sir  {to  Surly), 
Desires  you  meet  him  in  the  Temple  Church  620 

Some  half-hour  hence,  and  upon  earnest  business. 
Sir  —  {whispers  Mammon)  —  if  you  please  to  quit  us  now, 

and  come 
Again  within  two  hours,  you  shall  have 
My  master  busy  examining  o'  the  works ; 
And  I  will  steal  you  in  unto  the  party. 
That  you  may  see  her  converse.     Sir,  shall  I  say 
You'll  meet  the  captain's  worship  ? 

Sur.  Sir,  I  will.  [  Walks  aside. 

But,  by  attorney  and  to  a  second  purpose. 
Now,  I  am  sure  I  understand  this  house ;  630 

I'll  swear  it,  were  the  marshal  here  to  thank  me : 
The  naming  this  commander  doth  confirm  it. 
Don  Face  !  why  he's  the  most  authentic  dealer 
In  these  commodities,  the  superintendent 
To  all  the  quainter  traffickers  in  town  ! 
He  is  the  visitor,  and  does  appoint 
Who  visits  whom,  and  at  what  hour ;   ^hat  price  ; 

1  A  game  of  cards. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 65 

Which  gown,  and  in  what  smock;  what  falP;  what  tire. 

Him  will  I  prove,  by  a  third  person,  to  find 

The  subtleties  of  this  dark  labyrinth  :  640 

Which  if  I  do  discover,  dear  Sir  Mammon, 

You'll  give  your  poor  friend  leave,  though  no  philosopher, 

To  laugh  :  for  you  that  are,  'tis  thought,  shall  weep. 

Face.  Sir,  he  does  pray  you'll  not  forget. 

Sur.  I  will  not,  sir. 
Sir  Epicure,  I  shall  leave  you.  \Exit. 

Mam.  I  follow  you  straight. 

Face.  But  do  so,  good  sir,  to  avoid  suspicion. 
This  gentleman  has  a  parlous  ^  head. 

Mam.  But  wilt  thou,  Ulen,  650 

Be  constant  to  thy  promise  ? 

Face.  As  my  life,  sir. 

Mam.  And  wilt  thou  insinuate  -what  I  am,  and  praise  me, 
And  say  I  am  a  noble  fellow? 

Face.  Oh,  what  else,  sir? 
And  that  you'll  make  her  royal  with  the  stone. 
An  empress  :  and  yourself.  King  of  Bantam. 

Mam.  Wilt  thou  do  this? 

Face.  Will  I,  sir  ! 

Mam.  Lungs,  my  Lungs  !  660 

I  love  thee. 

Face.  Send  your  stuff,  sir,  that  my  master 
May  busy  himself  about  projection. 

Mam.  Thou  hast  witch'd  me,  rogue  :  take,  go. 

[  Gives  him  money. 

Face.  Your  jack,^  and  all,  sir. 

Mam.  Thou  art  a  villain  —  I  will  send  my  jack, 

1  A  ruff,  or  band,  turned  back  on  the  shoulders. 

2  Perilous.  3  Roasting-jack. 


1 66  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

And  the  weights  too.     Slave,  I  could  bite  thine  ear. 
Away,  thou  dost  not  care  for  me. 

Face.  Not  I,  sir  ! 

Mam.  Come,  I  was  born  to  make  thee,  my  good  weasel. 
Set  thee  on  a  bench,  and  have  thee  twirl  a  chain  671 

With  the  best  lord's  vermin  of  'em  all. 

Face.  Away,  sir. 

Mam.  A  count,  nay,  a  count  palatine 

Face.  Good,  sir,  go. 

Mam.  Shall  not  advance  thee  better  :  no,  nor  faster. 

{^Exit. 
Re-enter  Subtle  and  Dol. 

Sub.  Has  he  bit  ?  has  he  bit  ? 

Face.  And  swallowed  too,  my  Subtle. 
I  have  given  him  line,  and. now  he  plays,  i'  faith. 

Sub.  And  shall  we  twitch  him  ?  680 

Face.  Thorough  both  the  gills. 
For  here  is  a  rare  bait,  with  which  a  man 
No  sooner's  taken,  but  he  straight  firks  mad. 

Sub.  Dol,  my  Lord  What's'hums  sister,  you  must  now 
Bear  yourself  statelich. 

Dol.  Oh,  let  me  alone. 
I'll  not  forget  my  race,  I  warrant  you. 
I'll  keep  my  distance,  laugh  and  talk  aloud ; 
Have  all  the  tricks  of  a  proud  scurvy  lady. 
And  be  as  rude  as  her  woman.  690 

Face.  Well  said,  sanguine  ! 

Sub.  But  will  he  send  his  andirons  ? 

Face.  His  jack  too, 
And's  iron  shoeing-horn  ;  I  have  spoke  to  him.     Well, 
I  must  not  loose  my  wary  gamester  yonder. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  167 

Sub.  Oh,  Monsieur  Caution,  that  will  not  be  guWd, 

Face,  Ay, 
If  I  can  strike  a  fine  hook  into  him,  now  ! 
The  Temple  Church,  there  I  have  cast  mine  angle. 
Well,  pray  for  me.     I'll  about  it.       \_Knocking  without.     700 

Sub.  What,  more  gudgeons  ! 
Del,  scout,  scout !    (DoL  goes  to  the  window.)  Stay,  Face, 

you  must  go  to  the  door. 
Pray  God  it  be  my  Anabaptist.  —  Who  is't,  Dol? 

DoL  I  know  him  not :  he  looks  like  a  gold-endman.^ 

Sub.  Ods  so  !    'tis    he,   he    said   he  would   send  —  what 
call  you  him? 
The  sanctified  elder,  that  should  deal 
For  Mammon's  jack  and  andirons.     Let  him  in. 
Stay,  help  me  off,  first,  with  my  gown.   {Exit  Face  with  the 

gown.)    Away, 
Madam,  to  your  withdrawing  chamber.  {Exit  Dol.)  Now, 
In  a  new  tune,  new  gesture,  but  old  language.  —  710 

This  fellow  is  sent  from  one  negotiates  with  me 
About  the  stone  too ;  for  the  holy  brethren 
Of  Amsterdam,  the  exiled  saints  ;  that  hope 
To  raise  their  discipline  by  it.     I  must  use  him 
In  some  strange  fashion,  now,  to  make  him  admire  me.  — 

Enter  Ananias. 

{Aloud.)  Where  is  my  drudge? 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  Sir  ! 

Sub.  Take  away  the  recipient, 

1  One  who  buys  remnants  of  gold  or  silver ;  a  goldsmith's  apprentice. 


1 68  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

And  rectify  your  menstrue  from  the  phlegma.^ 

Then  pour  it  on  the  Sol,  in  the  cucurbite,  720 

And  let  them  macerate  ^  together. 

Face.  Yes,  sir. 
And  save  the  ground? 

Sub.  No  :  terra  damnata 
Must  not  have  entrance  in  the  work.  —  Who  are  you? 

Ana.  A  faithful  brother/  if  it  please  you. 

Sub.  What's  that? 
A  Lullianist  ? '^   a  Ripley  !^     Filius  artis? 
Can  you  sublime  and  dulcify  ?  calcine  ? 
Know  you  the  sapor  pontic  ?  sapor  stiptic  ?  730 

Or  what  is  homogene,  or  heterogene  ? 

Ana.  I  understand  no  heathen  language,  truly. 

Sub.  Heathen  !    you  Knipper-doling  ?  *^  is  Ars  sacra, 
Or  chrysopoeia,  or  spagyrica,'' 
Or  the  pamphysic,  or  panarchic  knowledge, 
A  heathen  language  ? 

Ana.  Heathen  Greek,  I  take  it. 

Sub.  How  heathen  Greek? 

Ana.  All's  heathen  but  the  Hebrew.* 

Sub.  Sirrah,  my  varlet,  stand  you  forth  and  speak  to  him 
Like  a  philosopher  :  answer  in  the  language,  741 

Name  the  vexations  and  the  martyrizations 

1  Water  of  distillation.  2  Steep. 

3  The  Puritans  called  each  other  "  faithful  brothers." 

4  Raymond  Lully,  one  of  the  most  famous  philosophers  of  the  Middle 
Age ;  b.  about  1235,  d.  1315. 

5  George  Ripley,  canon  of  Bridlington  in  the  fifteenth  century,  dedicated 
a  great  work  on  alchemy  to  King  Edward  IV.     See  Fuller's  Worthies. 

6  An  Anabaptist,  who  raised  a  revolt  in  Miinster  in  1533. 
"^  Alchemical. 

8  The  Puritans,  taking  the  Hebrew  Old  Testament  for  their  guide,  treated 
Greek,  the  language  of  the  New  Testament,  scornfully. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  169 

Of  metals  in  the  work. 

Face.  Sir,  putrefaction, 
Solution,  ablution,  sublimation, 
Cohobation,  calcination,  ceration,  and 
Fixation. 

Sub.  This  is  heathen  Greek  to  you,  now  !  — 
And  when  comes  vivification  ? 

Face.  After  mortification.  750 

Sub.  What's  cohobation? 

Face.  'Tis  the  pouring  on 
Your  aqua  regis,^  and  then  drawing  him  off, 
To  the  trine  circle  of  the  seven  spheres. 

Sub.  What's  the  proper  passion  of  metals  ? 

Face.  Malleation. 

Sub.  What's  your  ultimum  supplicium  auri  ? 

Face.  Antimonium. 

Sub.  This  is  heathen  Greek  to  you?  —  And  what's  your 
mercury  ?  760 

Face.  A  very  fugitive,  he  will  be  gone,  sir. 

Sub.  How  know  you  him  ? 

Face.  By  his  viscosity. 
His  oleosity,  and  his  suscitability. 

Sub.  How  do  you  sublime  him  ? 

Face.  With  the  calce  of  egg-shells. 
White  marble,  talc. 

Sub.  Your  magisterium,  now. 
What's  that? 

Face.  Shifting,  sir,  your  elements,  770 

Dry  into  cold,  cold  into  moist,  moist  into  hot, 
Hot  into  dry. 

Sub.  This  is  heathen  Greek  to  you  still ! 

1  Nitro-muriatic  acid,  to  dissolve  the  gold. 


1 70  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  ii. 

Your  lapis  philosophicus  ? 

Face.  'Tis  a  stone, 
And  not  a  stone ;  a  spirit,  a  soul,  and  a  body  : 
Which  if  you  do  dissolve,  it  is  dissolved ; 
If  you  coagulate,  it  is  coagulated  ; 
If  you  make  it  to  fly,  it  flieth. 

Sub.  Enough.  [^^//Face.     780 

This  is  heathen  Greek  to  you  !     What  are  you,  sir? 

Ana.  Please  you,  a  servant  of  the  exiled  brethren 
That  deal  with  widows  and  with  orphans'  goods : 
And  make  a  just  account  unto  the  saints  : 
A  deacon. 

Sub.  Oh,  you  are  sent  from  Master  Wholesome, 
Your  teacher? 

Ana.  From  Tribulation  Wholesome, 
Our  very  zealous  pastor. 

Sub.  Good  !     I  have  790 

Some  orphans'  goods  to  come  here. 

Ana.  Of  what  kind,  sir? 

Sub.  Pewter  and  brass,  andirons  and  kitchenware, 
Metals,  that  we  must  use  our  medicine  on  : 
Wherein  the  brethren  may  have  a  pennyworth 
For  ready  money. 

Ana.  Were  the  orphans'  parents 
Sincere  professors  ? 

Sub.  Why  do  you  ask  ? 

Ana.  Because  800 

We  then  are  to  deal  justly,  and  give  in  truth 
Their  utmost  value. 

Sub.  'Slid,  you'd  cozen  else. 
And  if  their  parents  were  not  of  the  faithful !  — 
I  will  not  trust  you,  now  I  think  on  it, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  171 

Till  I  have  talked  with  your  pastor.      Have  you  brought 

money 
To  buy  more  coals  ? 

Ana.  No,  surely. 

Sub.  No  !  how  so  ? 

Ana.  The  brethren  bid  me  say  unto  you,  sir,  810 

Surely  they  will  not  venture  any  more 
Till  they  may  see  projection. 

Sub.  How  ! 

Ana.  You  have  had, 
For  the  instruments,  as  bricks,  and  loam,  and  glasses. 
Already  thirty  pound ;  and  for  materials, 
They  say,  some  ninety  more  :  and  they  have  heard  since 
That  one  at  Heidelberg  made  it  of  an  egg 
And  a  small  paper  of  pin-dust. 

Sub.  What's  your  name?  820 

Ana.  My  name  is  Ananias. 

Sub.  Out,  the  varlet 
That  cozen'd  the  apostles  !     Hence,  away. 
Flee,  mischief !     Had  your  holy  consistory 
No  name  to  send  me  of  another  sound 
Than  wicked  Ananias  ?  send  your  elders 
Hither  to  make  atonement  for  you  quickly, 
And  give  me  satisfaction ;  or  out  goes 
The  fire ;  and  down  th'  alembics,  and  the  furnace, 
Piger  Henricus,  or  what  not.     Thou  wretch  !  830 

Both  sericon  and  bufo  ^  shall  be  lost, 
Tell  them.     All  hope  of  rooting  out  the  bishops. 
Or  the  antichristian  hierarchy,  shall  perish. 
If  they  stay  threescore  minutes  :  the  aqueity, 
Terreity,  and  sulphureity 

1  Red  tincture  and  black. 


172  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  II. 

Shall  run  together  again,  and  all  be  annulled, 

Thou  wicked  Ananias  !  {Exit  Ananias.)  This  will  fetch  'em, 

And  make  them  haste  towards  their  gulling  more. 

A  man  must  deal  like  a  rough  nurse,  and  fright 

Those  that  are  fro  ward  to  an  appetite.  840 

Re-enter  Face  in  his  uniform,  followed  by  Drugger. 

Face.  He  is  busy  with  his  spirits,  but  we'll  upon  him. 

Sub.  How  now  !  what  mates,  what  bayards^  have  we  here  ? 

Face.  I  told  you  he  would  be  furious.  —  Sir,  here's  Nab 
Has  brought  you  another  piece  of  gold  to  look  on  — 
We  must  appease  him.     Give  it  me — and  prays  you, 
You  would  devise  —  what  is  it,  Nab  ? 

Drug.  A  sign,  sir. 

Face.  Ay,  a  good  lucky  one,  a  thriving  sign,  doctor. 

Sub.  I  was  devising  now. 

Face.  'Slight,  do  not  say  so,  850 

He  will  repent  he  gave  you  any  more  — 
What  say  you  to  his  constellation,  doctor. 
The  Balance  ? 

Sub.  No,  that  way  is  stale  and  common. 
A  townsman  bom  in  Taurus  gives  the  bull, 
Or  the  bull's  head  :  in  Aries,  the  ram, 
A  poor  device  !     No,  I  will  have  his  name 
Formed  in  some  mystic  character ;  whose  radii. 
Striking  the  senses  of  the  passers-by. 

Shall,  by  a  virtual  influence,  breed  affections  860 

That  may  result  upon  the  party  owns  it : 
As  thus 

Face.  Nab  ! 

Sub.  He  shall  have  a  bel,  that's  Abel; 

1  Bayard,  a  blind  horse. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 73 

And  by  it  standing  one  whose  name  is  Dee^ 
In  a  rug  gown,  there's  D,  and  Rug,  that's  drug: 
And  right  anenst  him  a  dog  snarhng  er; 
There's  Drugger,  Abel  Drugger.     That's  his  sign. 
And  here's  now  mystery  and  hieroglyphic  ! 

Face.  Abel,  thou  art  made.  870 

Drug.  Sir,  I  do  thank  his  worship. 

Face.  Six  o'  thy  legs  more  will  not  do  it,  Nab. 
He  has  brought  you  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  doctor. 

Drug.  Yes,  sir : 
I  have  another  thing  I  would  impart 

Face.  Out  with  it.  Nab. 

Drug.  Sir,  there  is  lodged,  hard  by  me, 
A  rich  young  widow 

Face.  Good  !  a  bona  roba? 

Drug.  But  nineteen  at  the  most.  880 

Face.  Very  good,  Abel. 

Drug.  Marry,  she's  not  in  fashion  yet ;  she  wears 
A  hood,  but  it  stands  a  cop.^ 

Face.  No  matter,  Abel. 

Drug.  And  I  do  now  and  then  give  her  a  fucus  — 

Face.  What !  dost  thou  deal.  Nab? 

Sub.  I  did  tell  you,  captain. 

Drug.  And  physic,  too,  sometime,  sir;    for   which  she 
trusts  me 
With  all  her  mind.     She's  come  up  here  of  purpose 
To  learn  the  fashion.  890 

Face.  Good  (his  match  too  !)  —  On,  Nab. 

Drug.  And  she  does  strangely  long  to  know  her  fortune. 

1  Dr.  John  Dee,  alchemist  and  scholar,  who  modestly  said  that  if  he  had 
found  a  Maecenas,  Britain  would  not  have  lacked  an  Aristotle. 


Ending  in  a  point. 


1 74  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  ii. 

Face.  Ods  lid,  Nab,  send  her  to  the  doctor,  hither. 

Drug,  Yes,  I  have  spoke  to  her  of  his  worship  already ; 
But  she's  afraid  it  will  be  blown  abroad, 
And  hurt  her  marriage. 

Face.  Hurt  it !  'tis  the  way 
To  heal  it,  if  'twere  hurt ;  to  make  it  more 
Followed  and  sought ;  Nab,  thou  shalt  tell  her  this. 
She'll  be  more  known,  more  talked  of;  and  your  widows  90c 
Are  ne'er  of  any  price  till  they  be  famous  : 
Their  honour  is  their  multitude  of  suitors  : 
Send  her,  it  may  be  thy  good  fortune.     What ! 
Thou  dost  not  know. 

Drug.  No,  sir,  she'll  never  marry 
Under  a  knight :  her  brother  has  made  a  vow. 

Face.  What !  and  dost  thou  despair,  my  little  Nab, 
Knowing  what  the  doctor  has  set  down  for  thee. 
And  seeing  so  many  of  the  city  dubbed  ? 
One  glass  o'  thy  water,  with  a  madam  I  know,  910 

Will  have  it  done.  Nab  ;  what's  her  brother  —  a  knight  ? 

Drug.  No,  sir,  a  gentleman  newly  warm  in  his  land,  sir, 
Scarce  cold  in  his  one-and-twenty,  that  does  govern 
His  sister  here ;  and  is  a  man  himself 
Of  some  three  thousand  a  year,  and  is  come  up 
To  learn  to  quarrel,  and  to  live  by  his  wits. 
And  will  go  down  again,  and  die  in  the  country. 

Face.  How  !  to  quarrel  ? 

Drug.  Yes,  sir,  to  carry  quarrels. 
As  gallants  do  ;  to  manage  them  by  line.^  920 

Face.  'Slid,  Nab,  the  doctor  is  the  only  man 
In  Christendom  for  him.     He  has  made  a  table. 
With  mathematical  demonstrations, 

1  Cf.  Hamlet's  "  speak  by  the  card." 


SCENE  I.J  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 75 

Touching  the  art  of  quarrels  :  he  will  give  him 

An  instrument  to  quarrel  by.     Go,  bring  them  both, 

Him  and  his  sister.     And,  for  thee,  with  her 

The  doctor  haply  may  persuade.     Go  to  : 

Shalt  give  his  worship  a  new  damask  suit 

Upon  the  premises. 

Sub.  Oh,  good  captain  !  930 

Face.  He  shall ; 
He  is  the  honestest  fellow,  doctor.  —  Stay  not, 
No  offers  ;  bring  the  damask,  and  the  parties. 

Drug.  I'll  try  my  power,  sir. 

Face.  And  thy  will,  too.  Nab. 

Sub.  'Tis  good  tobacco,  this  !     What  is't  an  ounce  ? 

Face.  He'll  send  you  a  pound,  doctor. 

Sub.  Oh,  no. 

Face.  He  will  do't. 
It  iis  the  goodest  soul  Abel !  —  Abel,  about  it.  940 

Thou  shalt  know  more  anon.    Away,  begone.  —  \^Exit  Abel. 
A  miserable  rogue,  and  lives  with  cheese. 
And  has  the  worms.     That  was  the  cause,  indeed. 
Why  he  came  now :  he  dealt  with  me  in  private, 
To  get  a  med'cine  for  them. 

Sub.  And  shall,  sir.     This  works. 

Face.  A  wife,  a  wife  for  one  of  us,  my  dear  Subtle  ! 
We'll  e'en  draw  lots,  and  he  that  fails,  shall  have 
The  more  in  goods. 

Sub.  Faith,  best  let's  see  her  first,  and  then  determine.  950 
"   Face.  Content ;  but  Dol  must  have  no  breath  on't. 

Sub.  Mum. 
Away  you,  to  your  Surly  yonder,  catch  him. 

Face.  Pray  God,  I  have  not  stayed  too  long. 

Sub.  I  fear  it.  {^Exeunt. 


1^6  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  ill. 


ACT   III. 

Scene  I.  —  The  Lane  before  Lovewit's  House. 
Enter  Tribulation  Wholesome  and  Ananias. 

Tri.  These  chastisements  are  common  to  the  saints, 
And  such  rebukes,  we  of  the  separation 
Must  bear  with  wiUing  shoulders,  as  the  trials 
Sent  forth  to  tempt  our  frailties. 

Ana.  In  pure  zeal, 
I  do  not  like  the  man;  he  is  a  heathen, 
And  speaks  the  language  of  Canaan,  truly. 

Tri.  I  think  him  a  profane  person  indeed. 

Ana.  He  bears 
The  visible  mark  of  the  beast  in  his  forehead. 
And  for  his  stone,  it  is  a  work  of  darkness. 
And  with  philosophy  bUnds  the  eyes  of  man. 

Tri.  Good  brother,  we  must  bend  unto  all  means 
That  may  give  furtherance  to  the  holy  cause. 

Ana.  Which  his  cannot :  the  sanctified  cause 
Should  have  a  sanctified  course. 

Tri.  Not  always  necessary  : 
The  children  of  perdition  are  ofttimes 
Made  instruments  even  of  the  greatest  works  : 
Beside,  we  should  give  somewhat  to  man's  nature, 
The  place  he  lives  in,  still  about  the  fire, 
And  fume  of  metals,  that  intoxicate 
The  brain  of  man,  and  make  him  prone  to  passion. 
Where  have  you  greater  atheists  than  your  cooks  ? 
Or  more  profane,  or  choleric  than  your  glass-men  ? 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 77 

More  antichristian  than  your  bell- founders? 

What  makes  the  devil  so  devilish,  I  would  ask  you, 

Satan,  our  common  enemy,  but  his  being 

Perpetually  about  the  fire,  and  boiling 

Brimstone  and  arsenic  ?     We  must  give,  I  say,  30 

Unto  the  motives,  and  the  stirrers-up 

Of  humours  in  the  blood.     It  may  be  so, 

Whenas  the  work  is  done,  the  stone  is  made, 

This  heat  of  his  may  turn  into  a  zeal. 

And  stand  up  for  the  beauteous  discipHne, 

Against  the  filthy  cloth  and  rag  of  Rome. 

We  must  await  his  calling,  and  the  coming 

Of  the  good  spirit.     You  did  fault  t'upbraid  him 

With  the  brethren's  blessing  of  Heidelberg,  weighing 

What  need  we  have  to  hasten  on  the  work  40 

For  the  restoring  of  the  silenced  saints. 

Which  ne'er  will  be,  but  by  the  philosopher's  stone. 

And  so  a  learned  elder,  one  of  Scotland, 

Assured  me  ;  aurum  potabile  being 

The  only  med'cine  for  the  civil  magistrate 

T'incline  him  to  a  feehng  of  the  cause. 

And  must  be  daily  used  in  the  disease. 

Ana.  I  have  not  edified  more,  truly,  by  man ; 
Not  since  the  beautiful  light  first  shone  on  me  : 
And  I  am  sad  my  zeal  hath  so  offended.  •.  50 

Tri.  Let  us  call  on  him  then. 

Ana.  The  motion's  good. 
And  of  the  spirit;  I  will  knock  first.     {Knocks.)       Peace 
within  !  [  The  door  is  opened,  and  they  enter. 


1 78  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  ill. 

Scene  II.  —  A  Room  in  Lovewit's  House. 
Enter '^Xi^TYS.,  followed  by  Tribulation  ««^  Ananias. 

Sub.  Oh,  are  you  come?     'Twas  time.     Your  threescore 
minutes 
Were  at  last  thread,  you  see ;  and  down  had  gone 
Furnus  acedia,  turris  circulatoris : 
Lembec,  bolt's-head,  retort  and  peHcan 
Had  all  been  cinders.  —  Wicked  Ananias  ! 
Art  thou  returned  ?     Nay  then,  it  goes  down  yet. 

Tri.  Sir,  be  appeased ;  he  is  come  to  humble 
Himself  in  spirit,  and  to  ask  your  patience, 
If  too  much  zeal  hath  carried  him  aside 
From  the  due  path.  10 

Sub.  Why,  this  doth  qualify  ! 

Tri.  The  brethren  had  no  purpose,  verily. 
To  give  you  the  least  grievance  :  but  are  ready 
To  lend  their  willing  hands  to  any  project 
The  spirit  and  you  direct. 

Sub.  This  qualifies  more  ! 

Tri.  And  for  the  orphan's  goods,  let  them  be  valued, 
Or  what  is  needful  else  to  the  holy  work. 
It  shall  be  numbered  ;  here,  by  me,  the  saints 
Throw  down  their  purse  before  you.  20 

Sub.  This  qualifies  most ! 
Why,  thus  it  should  be,  now  you  understand. 
Have  I  discoursed  so  unto  you  of  our  stone. 
And  of  the  good  that  it  shall  bring  your  cause  ? 
Showed  you  (beside  the  main  of  hiring  forces 
Abroad,  drawing  the  Hollanders,  your  friends, 
From  the  Indies,  to  serve  you  with  all  their  fleet) 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 79 

That  even  the  med'cinal  use  shall  make  you  a  faction 

And  party  in  the  realm  ?     As,  put  the  case, 

That  some  great  man  in  state,  he  have  the  gout,  30 

Why,  you  but  send  three  drops  of  your  elixir. 

You  help  him  straight :  there  you  have  made  a  friend. 

Another  has  the  palsy  or  the  dropsy. 

He  takes  of  your  incombustible  stuif, 

•He's  young  again :  there  you  have  made  a  friend. 

A  lady  that  is  past  the  feat  of  body. 

Though  not  of  mind,  and  hath  her  face  decayed 

Beyond  all  cure  of  paintings,  you  restore 

With  the  oil  of  talc  :  there  you  have  made  a  friend, 

And  all  her  friends.     A  lord  that  is  a  leper,  40 

A  knight  that  has  the  bone-ache,  or  a  squire 

That  hath  both  these,  you  make  them  smooth  and  sound 

With  a  bare  fricace  of  your  med'cine  :  still 

You  increase  your  friends. 

Tri,  Ay,  it  is  very  pregnant. 

Sub.  And  then  the  turning  of  this  lawyer's  pewter 
To  plate  at  Christmas 

Ana.  Christ-tide,^  I  pray  you. 

Sub.  Yet,  Ananias  ! 

Ana.  I  have  done.  50 

Sub.  Or  changing 
His  parcel  gilt  to  massy  gold.     You  cannot 
But  raise  your  friends.     Withal  to  be  of  power 
To  pay  an  army  in  the  field,  to  buy 
The  king  of  France  out  of  his  realms,  or  Spain 
Out  of  his  Indies.     What  can  you  not  do 
Against  lords  spiritual  or  temporal, 

*  The  Puritans,  scrupulous  to  avoid  everything  Romish,  called  ChristwoJ 
"  Christ-/ffl&f." 


l8o  THE  ALCHEMIST-  [ACT  III. 

That  shall  oppone  you  ? 

Tri.  Verily,  'tis  true. 
We  may  be  temporal  lords  ourselves,  I  take  it.  60 

Sub.  You  may  be  anything,  and  leave  off  to  make 
Long-winded  exercises  ;  or  suck  up 
Your  ha  I  and  hicm  !  in  a  tune.     I  not  deny 
But  such  as  are  not  graced  in  a  state, 
May,  for  their  ends,  be  adverse  in  religion, 
And  get  a  tune  to  call  the  flock  together : 
For,  to  say  sooth,  a  tune  does  much  with  women 
And  other  phlegmatic  people  ;  it  is  your  bell. 

Ana.  Bells  are  profane  ;  -a  tune  may  be  religious. 

Sub.  No  warning  with  you  !  then  farewell  my  patience.  70 
'Slight,  it  shall  down  :  I  will  not  be  thus  tortured. 

Tri.  I  pray  you,  sir. 

Sub.  All  shall  perish.     I  have  spoke  it. 

Tri.  Let  me  find  grace,  sir,  in  your  eyes  :  the  man 
He  stands  corrected  :  neither  did  his  zeal, 
But  as  yourself,  allow  a  tune  somewhere. 
Which  now,  being  tow'rd  the  stone,  we  shall  not  need. 

Sub.  No,  nor  your  holy  vizard,  to  win  widows 
To  give  you  legacies ;  or  make  zealous  wives 
To  rob  their  husbands  for  the  common  cause  :  80 

Nor  take  the  start  of  bonds  broke  but  one  day, 
And  say  they  were  forfeited  by  providence. 
Nor  shall  you  need  o'ernight  to  eat  huge  meals. 
To  celebrate  your  next  day's  fast  the  better ; 
The  whilst  the  brethren  and  the  sisters  humbled, 
Abate  the  stiffness  of  the  flesh.     Nor  cast 
Before  your  hungry  hearers  scrupulous  bones ; 
As  whether  a  Christian  may  hawk  or  hunt, 
Or  whether  matrons  of  the  holy  assembly 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  l8l 

May  lay  their  hair  out,  or  wear  doublets,  90 

Or  have  that  idol  starch  about  their  linen. 

Afij^.  It  is  indeed  an  idol. 

Tri.  Mind  him  not,  sir. 
I  do  command  thee,  spirit  of  zeal,  but  trouble, 
To  peace  within  him  !     Pray  you,  sir,  go  on. 

Sul?.  Nor  shall  you  need  to  libel  'gainst  the  prelates. 
And  shorten  so  your  ears  against  the  hearing 
Of  the  next  wire-drawn  grace.     Nor  of  necessity 
Rail  against  plays,  to  please  the  alderman 
Whose  daily  custard  you  devour  :  nor  lie  100 

With  zealous  rage  till  you  are  hoarse.     Not  one 
Of  these  so  singular  arts.     Nor  call  yourselves 
By  names  of  Tribulation,  Persecution, 
Restraint,  Long-patience,  and  such  like,  affected 
By  th£  whole  family,  or  wood  of  you. 
Only  for  glory,  and  to  catch  the  ear 
Of  the  disciple. 

Tri.  Truly,  sir,  they  are 
Ways  that  the  godly  brethren  have  invented 
For  propagation  of  the  glorious  cause,  no 

As  very  notable  means,  and  whereby  also 
Themselves  grow  soon,  and  profitably,  famous. 

Stib.  Oh,  but  the  stone,  all's  idle  to  it !     Nothing  ! 
The  art  of  angels,  nature's  miracle. 
The  divine  secret  that  doth  fly  in  clouds 
From  east  to  west ;  and  whose  tradition 
Is  not  from  men,  but  spirits. 

Ana.  I  hate  traditions  ; 
I  do  not  trust  them. 

Tri.  Peace  !  120 

Ana.  They  are  popish  all. 


1 82  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  hi. 

I  will  not  peace  :  I  will  not 

Tri.  Ananias  ! 

Ana.  Please  the  profane,  to  grieve  the  godly ;   I  mav  not. 

Sub.  Well,  Ananias,  thou  shalt  overcome. 

Tri.  It  is  an  ignorant  zeal  that  haunts  him,  sir, 
But  truly,  else,  a  very  faithful  brother, 
A  botcher,  and  a  man,  by  revelation, 
That  hath  a  competent  knowledge  of  the  truth. 

Sub.  Has  he  a  competent  sum  there  in  the  bag  130 

To  buy  the  goods  within  ?     I  am  made  guardian. 
And  must,  for  charity,  and  conscience'  sake. 
Now  see  the  most  be  made  for  my  poor  orphan ; 
Though  I  desire  the  brethren  too  good  gainers ; 
There  they  are  within.     When  you  have  view'd,  and  bought 

'em. 
And  ta'en  the  inventory  of  what  they  are,  ^ 

They  are  ready  for  projection  ;  there's  no  more 
To  do ;  cast  on  the  med'cine  so  much  silver 
As  there  is  tin  there,  so  much  gold  as  brass, 
I'll  give  it  you  in,  by  weight.  140 

Tri.  But  how  long  time. 
Sir,  must  the  saints  expect  yet? 

Sub.  Let  me  see. 
How's  the  moon  now  ?     Eight,  nine,  ten  days  hence, 
He  will  be  silver  potate  ;  then  three  days 
Before  he  citronise  :  some  fifteen  days. 
The  magisterium  will  be  perfected. 

Ana.  About  the  second  day  of  the  third  week, 
In  the  ninth  month  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  my  good  Ananias.  150 

Tri.  What  will  the  orphans'  goods  arise  to,  think  you  ? 

Sub.  Some  hundred  marks,  as  much  as  filled  three  cars, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  183 

Unladed  now  :  you'll  make  six  millions  of  them. 
But  I  must  have  more  coals  laid  in. 

Tri.  How! 

Sub.  Another  load, 
And  then  we  have  finished.     We  must  now  increase 
Our  fire  to  ignis  ardens^  we  are  past 
Fimus  equinuSj  balnei,  cineris, 

And  all  those  lenter  heats.     If  the  holy  purse  160 

Should  with  this  draught  fall  low,  and  that  the  saints 
Do  need  a  present  sum,  I  have  a  trick 
To  melt  the  pewter,  you  shall  buy  now,  instantly, 
And  with  a  tincture  make  you  as  good  Dutch  dollars 
As  any  are  in  Holland. 

Tri.  Can  you  so  ? 

Sub.  Ay,  and  shall  'bide  the  third  examination. 

Ana.  It  will  be  joyful  tidings  to  the  brethren. 

Sub.  But  you  must  carry  it  secret. 

Tri.  Ay,  but  stay,  170 

This  act  of  coining,  is  it  lawful? 

Ana.  Lawful ! 
We  know  no  magistrate ;  or,  if  we  did,^ 
This  is  foreign  coin. 

Sub.  It  is  no  coining,  sir, 
It  is  but  casting. 

Tri.  Ha  !  you  distinguish  well : 
Casting  of  money  may  be  lawful. 

Ana.  'Tis,  sir. 

Tri.  Truly,  I  take  it  so.  180 

Sub.  There  is  no  scruple, 
Sir,  to  be  made  of  it ;  believe  Ananias  : 

1  A  fine  stroke !     The  Puritans  refused  to  recognize  the  then  existing 
civil  governments  as  being  divinely  sanctioned. 


V. 


1 84  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  III. 

This  case  of  conscience  he  is  studied  in. 

Tri.  I'll  make  a  question,  of  it  to  the  brethren. 

Ana.  The  brethren  shall  approve  it  lawful,  doubt  not. 
Where  shall  it  be  done  ?  {^Knocking  witliout. 

Sub.  For  that  we'll  talk  anon. 
There's  some  to  speak  with  me.     Go  in,  I  pray  you, 
And  view  the  parcels.     That's  the  inventory. 
I'll  come  to  you  straight.  \_Exeunt  Trie,  and  Ana.^ 

Who  is  it? —  Face  !  appear.     190 

Enter  Face  in  his  uniform. 

How  now  !     Good  prize  ? 

Face.  Good  plague  !     Yond'  costive  cheater 
Never  came  on. 

Sub.  How  then  ? 

Face.  I  have  walked  the  round 
Till  now,  and  no  such  thing. 

Sub.  And  have  you  quit  him  ? 

Face.  Quit  him  !  an  hell  would  quit  him  too,  he  were  happy. 
'Slight !     Would  you  have  me  stalk  like  a  mill-jade. 
All  day,  for  one  that  will  not  yield  us  grains?  200 

I  know  him  of  old. 

Sub.  Oh,  but  to  have  gulled  him 
Had  been  a  mastery. 

Face.  Let  him  go,  black  boy  ! 
And  turn  thee  that  some  fresh  news  may  possess  thee. 
A  noble  count,  a  don  of  Spain,  my  dear 
Delicious  compeer,  and  my  party- bawd, 
Who  is  come  hither  private  for  his  conscience, 

1  It  is  well  to  remember,  in  reading  Jonson's  satires  on  the  Puritans, 
that  he  was  brought  up  in  the  Church  of  England,  then  joined  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  finally  returned  to  Anglicanism. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 85 

And  brought  munition  with  him,  six  great  slops/ 

Bigger  than  three  Dutch  hoys,^  beside  round  trunks/         210 

Furnished  with  pistolets,  and  pieces  of  eight, 

Will  straight  be  here,  my  rogue,  to  have  thy  bath 

(That  is  the  colour) ,  and  to  make  his  battery 

Upon  our  Dol,  our  castle,  our  Cinque-port,* 

Our  Dover  pier,  our  what  thou  wilt.     Where  is  she  ? 

She  must  prepare  perfumes,  delicate  linen. 

The  bath  in  chief,  a  banquet,  and  her  wit. 

Where  is  the  doxy? 

Sub.  I'll  send  her  to  thee  : 
And  but  dispatch  my  brace  of  little  John  Leydens,^  220 

And  come  again  myself. 

Face,  Are  they  within,  then  ? 

Sub.  Numbering  the  sum. 

Face.  How  much? 

Sub.  A  hundred  marks,  boy.  \^Exit. 

Face.  Why,  this  is  a  lucky  day.    Ten  pounds  of  Mammon  ! 
Three  of  my  clerk  !     A  portague  of  my  grocer  ! 
This  of  the  brethren  !  beside  reversions. 
And  states  to  come  in  the  widow,  and  my  count  ! 
My  share  to-day  will  not  be  bought  for  forty 230 

Enter  Dol. 
Dol.  What? 

Face.  Pounds,  dainty  Dorothy  !     Art  thou  so  near? 
Dol.  Yes  ;  say,  lord  general,  how  fares  our  camp  ? 

1  Large,  loose  breeches.  2  Unwieldy  Dutch  ships.  3  Hose. 

4  The  Cinque  Ports  were  on  the  south  coast  of  England,  facing  France, 
and  under  the  government  of  a  warden.  Originally  there  were  five,  as 
the  name  implies:  Dover,  Sandwich,  Romney,  Hastings,  and  Hithe;  Win- 
chelsea  and  Rye  were  added  later. 

5  The  famous  Anabaptist  leader,  put  to  death  in  1536. 


l86  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  hi. 

Face,  As  with  the  few  that  had  entrenched  themselves 
Safe,  by  their  discipHne,  against  a  world,  Dol, 
A-nd  laughed  within  those  trenches,  and  grew  fat 
With  thinking  on  the  booties,  Dol,  brouglit  in 
Daily  by  their  small  parties.     This  dear  hour 
A  doughty  don  is  taken  with  my  Dol ; 

And  thou  may'st  make  his  ransom  what  thou  wilt,  240 

My  Dousabel ;  he  shall  be  brought  here  fettered 
With  thy  fair  looks,  before  he  sees  thee,  —  and  t-hrown 
In  a  down-bed,  as  dark  as  any  dungeon ; 
Till  he  be  tame 

As  the  poor  blackbirds  were  in  the  great  frost. 
Or  bees  are  with  a  bason ;  and  so  hive  him 
My  little  God's-gift.^ 

Dol.  What  is  he,  general  ? 

Face.  An  adalantado, 
A  grandee,  girl.     Was  not  my  Dapper  here  yet?  250 

Dol.  No. 

Face.  Nor  my  Drugger? 

Dol.  Neither. 

Face.  A  plague  on  'em, 
They  are  so  long  a- furnishing  !     Such  stinkards 
Would  not  be  seen  upon  these  festival  days.  — 

Re-enter  Subtle. 

How  now  !  have  you  done  ? 

Sub.  Done.     They  are  gone  :  the  sum 
Is  here  in  bank,  my  Face.     I  would  we  knew 
Another  chapman  now  would  buy  'em  outright.  260 

Face.  'Slid,  Nab  shall  do't  against  he  have  the  widow 
To  furnish  household. 

1  A  play  on  Dol's  name,  Dorothea  meaning  God's-gifts. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  187 

Sub.  Excellent,  well  thought  on  : 
Pray  God  he  come  ! 

Face.  I  pray  he  keep  away 
Till  our  new  business  be  o'erpast. 

Sub.  But,  Face, 
How  cam'st  thou  by  this  secret  don  ? 

Face.  A  spirit 
Brought  me  th'  intelligence  in  a  paper  here,  270 

As  I  was  conjuring  yonder  in  my  circle 
For  Surly ;  I  have  my  flies  abroad.     Your  bath 
Is  famous,  Subtle,  by  my  means.     Sweet  Dol, 
Tickle  him  with  thy  mother- tongue.     His  great 
Verdugoship^  has  not  a  jot  of  language  ; 
So  much  the  easier  to  be  cozened,  my  Dolly. 
He  will  come  here  in  a  hired  coach,  obscure, 
And  our  own  coachman,  whom  I  have  sent  as  guide. 
No  creature  else.     (^Knocking  without.)     Who's  that? 

\^Exit  Dol. 

Sub.  It  is  not  he  ?  280 

Face.  O  no,  not  yet  this  hour. 

Re-enter  Dol. 

Sub.  Who  is't? 

Dol.  Dapper, 
Your  clerk. 

Face.  God's  will  then,  Queen  of  Fairy, 
On  with  your  tire  ;  —  {exit  Dol)  —  and  doctor,  with  your 

robes. 
Let's  dispatch  him,  for  God's  sake. 

Sub.  'Twill  be  long. 

Face.  I  warrant  you,  take  but  the  cue  I  give  you, 

1  Verdugo  was  the  name  of  a  noble  Spanish  family. 


l88  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  ill. 

It  shall  be  brief  enough. —  {Goes  to  the  window.^ — 'Slight, 
here  are  more  !  290 

Abel,  and  I  think  the  angry  boy,  the  heir. 
That  fain  would  quarrel. 

Sub.  And  the  widow? 

Face.  No. 
Not  that  I  see.     Away  !  \_Exit  Sub. 

Enter  Dapper. 

Oh,  sir,  you  are  welcome. 
The  doctor  is  within  a-moving  for  you ; 
I  have  had  the  most  ado  to  win  him  to  it ! 
He  swears  you'll  be  the  darling  of  the  dice  : 
He  never  heard  her  highness  dote  till  now. 
Your  aunt  has  given  you  the  most  gracious  words  30G 

That  can  be  thought  on. 

Dap.  Shall  I  see  her  grace  ? 

Face.  See  her,  and  kiss  her  too.  — 

Enter  ksEX.^  followed  by  Kastril. 

What,  honest  Nab  ! 
Hast  brought  the  damask? 

Drug.  No,  sir ;  here's  tobacco. 

Face.  'Tis  well  done.  Nab  :  thou'lt  bring  the  damask  too  ? 

Drug.  Yes  :  here's  the  gentleman,  captain.  Master  Kastril, 
I  have  brought  to  see  the  doctor. 

Face.  Where's  the  widow? 

Drug.  Sir,  as  he  likes,  his  sister,  he  says,  shall  come.     310 

Face.  Oh,  is  it  so  ?    Good  time.    Is  your  name  Kastril,  sir  ? 

Kas.  Ay,  and  the  best  of  the  Kastrils,  I'd  be  sorry  else, 
By  fifteen  hundred  a-year.     Where  is  the  doctor  ? 
My  mad  tobacco-boy,  here,  tells  me  of  one 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  189 

That  can  do  things  :  has  he  any  skill  ? 

Face.  Wherein,  sir? 

Kas.  To  carry  a  business,  manage  a  quarrel  fairly, 
Upon  fit  terms. 

Face.  It  seems,  sir,  you  are  but  young 
About  the  town,  that  can  make  that  a  question.  320 

Kas.  Sir,  not  so  young  but  I  have  heard  some  speech 
Of  the  angry  boys,  and  seen  them  take  tobacco, 
And  in  his  shop ;  and  I  can  take  it  too. 
And  I  would  fain  be  one  of  'em,  and  go  down 
And  practise  in  the  country. 

Face.  Sir,  for  the  duello. 
The  doctor,  I  assure  you,  shall  inform  you, 
To  the  least  shadow  of  a  hair,  and  show  you 
An  instrument  he  has  of  his  own  making, 
Wherewith  no  sooner.shall  you  make  report  330 

Of  any  quarrel,  but  he  will  take  the  height  on't 
Most  instantly,  and  tell  in  what  degree 
Of  safety  it  lies  in,  or  mortality. 
And  how  it  may  be  borne,  whether  in  a  right  line, 
Or  a  half-circle  ;  or  may  else  be  cast 
Into  an  angle  blunt,  if  not  acute  : 
All  this  he  will  demonstrate.     And  then,  rules 
To  give  and  take  the  He  by. 

Kas.  How  !  to  take  it  ? 

Face.  Yes,  in  obHque  he'll  show  you,  or  in  circle  ;  ^        340 
But  never  in  diameter.     The  whole  town 
Study  his  theorems,  and  dispute  them  ordinarily 
At  the  eating  academies. 

Kas.  But  does  he  teach 

1  One  critic  remarks  that  Shakespeare,  Fletcher,  and  Jonson  tried  to 
bring  duelling  into  disrepute,  by  satirizing  it ;  yet  Jonson  fought  a  duel,  and 
killed  his  man. 


l^O  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  III. 

Living  by  the  wits  too  ? 

Face.  Anything  whatever. 
You  cannot  think  that  subtlety  but  he  reads  it. 
He  made  me  a  captain.     I  was  a  stark  pimp, 
Just  of  your  standing,  'fore  I  met  with  him  ; 
It  is  not  two  months  since.     I'll  tell  you  his  method  :         350 
First,  he  will  enter  you  at  some  ordinary.^ 

Kas.  No,  I'll  not  come  there ;  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Face.  For  why,  sir? 

Kas.  There's  gaming  there,  and  tricks. 

Face.  Why,  would  you  be 
A  gallant,  and  not  game  ? 

Kas.  Ay,  'twill  spend  a  man. 

Face.  Spend  you  !     It  will  repair  you  when  you  are  spent : 
How  do  they  live  by  their  wits  there,  that  have  vented 
Six  times  your  fortunes  ?  •  360 

Kas.  What,  three  thousand  a  year  ! 

Face.  Ay,  forty  thousand. 

Kas.  Are  there  such  ? 

Face.  Ay,  sir, 
And  gallants  yet.     Here's  a  young  gentleman 
Is  born  to  nothing — (^points  to  Dapper)  —  forty  marks  a-year, 
Which  I  count  nothing  :  —  he  is  to  be  initiated, 
And  have  a  fly  of  the  doctor.     He  will  win  you. 
By  unresistible  luck,  within  this  fortnight, 
Enough  to  buy  a  barony.     They  will  set  him  370 

Upmost,  at  the  groom  porters,  all  the  Christmas  : 
And  for  the  whole  year  through,  at  every  place 
Where  there  is  play,  present  him  with  the  chair ; 
The  best  attendance,  the  best  drink ;  sometimes 
Two  glasses  of  canary,  and  pay  nothing ; 
1  Eating-place. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  19 1 

The  purest  linen  and  the  sharpest  knife, 

The  partridge  next  his  trencher ;  and  somewhere 

The  dainty  nook  in  private  with  the  dainty. 

You  shall  have  your  ordinaries  bid  for  him, 

As  playhouses  for  a  poet ;  and  the  master  380 

Pray  him  aloud  to  name  what  dish  he  affects, 

Which  must  be  buttered  shrimps ;  and  those  that  drink 

To  no  mouth  else,  will  drink  to  his,  as  being 

The  goodly  president  mouth  of  all  the  board. 

Kas.  Do  you  not  gull  one? 

Face.  Ods,  my  hfe  !  do  you  think  it? 
You  shall  have  a  cast  commander  (can  but  get 
In  credit  with  a  glover,  or  a  spurrier. 
For  some  two  pair  of  either's  ware  aforehand), 
Will  by  most  swift  posts,  dealing  with  him,  390 

Arrive  at  competent  means  to  keep  himself, 
And  be  admired  for't. 

Kas.  Will  the  doctor  te»ch  this? 

Face.  He  will  do  more,  sir  :  when  your  land  is  gone, 
As  men  of  spirit  hate  to  keep  earth  long 
In  a  vacation,  when  small  money  is  stirring. 
And  ordinaries  suspended  till  the  term, 
He'll  show  a  perspective,  where  on  one  side 
You  shall  behold  the  faces  and  the  persons 
Of  all  sufficient  yoUng  heirs  in  town,  400 

Whose  bonds  are  current  for  commodity  ^ ; 
On  th'  other  side,  the  merchants'  forms,  and  others. 
That  without  help  of  any  second  broker. 
Who  would  expect  a  share,  will  trust  such  parcels : 
In  the  third  square,  the  very  street  and  sign 

1  Young  spendthrifts  had  to  take  in  merchandise  part  of  the  sums  they 
borrowed  from  usurers,  who  thus  made  a  large  profit. 


192  THE  ALCHEMIST.  fACT  ill. 

Where  the  commodity  dwells,  and  does  but  wait 

To  be  delivered,  be  it  pepper,  soap. 

Hops,  or  tobacco,  oatmeal,  wood,  or  cheeses. 

All  which  you  may  so  handle,  to  enjoy 

To  your  own  use,  and  never  stand  obliged.  410 

Kas.  I'  faith  !  is  he  such  a  fellow? 

Face.  Why,  Nab  here  knows  him. 
And  then  for  making  matches  for  rich  widows. 
Young  gentlewomen,  heirs,  the  fortunatest  man  ! 
He's  sent  to,  far  and  near,  all  over  England, 
To  have  his  counsel,  and  to  know  their  fortunes. 

Kas.  God's  will,  my  suster  shall  see  him. 

Face.  I'll  tell  you,  sir, 
What  he  did  tell  me  of  Nab.     It's  a  strange  thing  :  — 
By  the  way,  you  must  eat  no  cheese,  Nab,  it  breeds     420 

melancholy. 
And  that  same  melancholy  breeds  worms  ;  but  pass  it :  — 
He  told  me  honest  Nab  here  was  ne'er  at  tavern 
But  once  in's  life. 

Drug.  Truth,  and  no  more  I  was  not. 

Face.  And  then  he  was  so  sick 

Drug.  Could  he  tell  you  that  too? 

Face.  How  should  I  know  it  ? 

Drug.  In  troth  we  had  been  a-shooting. 
And  had  a  piece  of  fat  ram  mutton  to  supper,  430 

That  lay  so  heavy  o'  my  stomach 

Face.  And  he  has  no  head 
To  bear  any  wine  ;  for  what  with  the  noise  of  the  fiddlers 
And  care  of  his  shop,  for  he  dares  keep  no  servants 

Drug.  My  head  did  so  ache 

Face.  As  he  was  fain  to  be  brought  home. 
The  doctor  told  me  :  and  then  a  good  old  woman 


SCENE  li.J  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 93 

Drug.  Yes,  faith  —  she  dwells  in  Sea-coal  Lane  —  did  cure 
me, 
With  sodden  ale  and  pellitory  ^  of  the  wall ; 
Cost  me  but  twopence.  —  I  had  another  sickness  440 

Was  worse  than  that. 

Face.  Ay,  that  was  with  the  grief 
Thou  took'st  for  being  cessed  ^  at  eighteen-pence 
For  the  waterwork. 

Drug.  In  truth,  and  it  was  like 
T'  have  cost  me  almost  my  hfe. 

Face.  Thy  hair  went  off? 

Drug.  Yes,  sir ;  'twas  done  for  spite. 

Face.  Nay,  so  says  the  doctor. 

Kas.  Pray  thee,  tobacco  boy,  go  fetch  my  suster  j  450 

I'll  see  this  learned  boy  before  I  go, 
And  so  shall  she. 

Face.  Sir,  he  is  busy  now ; 
But  if  you  have  a  sister  to  fetch  hither, 
Perhaps  your  own  pains  may  command  her  sooner. 
And  he  by  that  time  will  be  free. 

Kas.  I  go.  \^Exit. 

Face.  Drugger,  she's  thine  :  the  damask  !        \^Exit  Abel. 

{Aside)  Subtle  and  I 
Must  wrestle  for  her.  —  Come  on,  Master  Dapper, 
You  see  how  I  turn  clients  here  away,  460 

To  give  your  cause  dispatch ;  have  you  performed 
The  ceremonies  were  enjoined  you? 

Dap.  Yes,  of  the  vinegar 
And  the  clean  shirt. 

Face.  'Tis  well :  that  shirt  may  do  you 
More  worship  than  you  think.     Your  aunt's  a-fire, 

1  A  kind  of  weeds  which  grow  on  walls.  2  Taxed. 


194  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  ill. 

But  that  she  will  not  show  it,  t'  have  a  sight  of  you. 
Have  you  provided  for  her  grace's  servants  ? 

Dap.  Yes,  here  are  six  score  Edward  shillings. 

Face,  Good  !  470 

Dap.  And  an  old  Harry's  sovereign. 

Face.  Very  good  ! 

Dap.  And  three  James  shillings,  and  an  Elizabeth  groat ; 
Just  twenty  nobles. 

Face.  Oh,  you  are  too  just. 
I  would  you  had  had  the  other  noble  in  Maries. 

Dap.  I  have  some  Philip  and  Maries. 

Face.  Ay,  those  same 
Are  best  of  all :  where  are  they  ?     Hark,  the  doctor. 

Enter  Subtle  disguised  like  a  priest  of  Fairy y  with  a  stripe 
of  cloth. 

Sub.  {in  a  feigned  voice) .     Is  yet  her  grace's  cousin  come  ? 

Face.  He  is  come.  481 

Sub.  And  is  he  fasting? 

Face.  Yes. 

St^b.  And  hath  cried  hum? 

Face.  Thrice,  you  must  answer. 

Dap.  Thrice. 

Sub.  And  as  oft  buz  ? 

Face.  If  you  have,  say. 

Dap.  I  have. 

Sub.  Then,  to  her  cuz,  490 

Hoping  that  he  hath  vinegared  his  senses. 
As  he  was  bid,  the  Fairy  Queen  dispenses. 
By  me,  this  robe,  the  petticoat  of  fortune ; 
Which  that  he  straight  put  on,  she  doth  importune. 
And  though  to  fortune  near  be  her  petticoat. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 95 

Yet  nearer  is  her  smock,  the  Queen  doth  note  : 

And  therefore,  even  of  that  a  piece  she  hath  sent, 

Which,  being  a  child,  to  wrap  him  in  was  rent ; 

And  prays  him  for  a  scarf  he  now  will  wear  it, 

With  as  much  love  as  then  her  grace  did  tear  it,  500 

About  his  eyes  —  {they  bind  him  with  the  rag)  —  to  show  he 

is  fortunate. 
And,  trusting  unto  her  to  make  his  state, 
He'll  throw  away  all  worldly  pelf  about  him ; 
Which  that  he  will  perform,  she  doth  not  doubt  him. 

Face.  She  need  not  doubt  him,  sir.     Alas,  he  has  nothing 
But  what  he  will  part  withal  as  willingly 
Upon  her  grace's  word  —  throw  away  your  purse  — 
As  she  would  ask  it ; — handkerchiefs  and  all  — 

\_He  throws  away  as  they  bid  him. 
She  cannot  bid  that  thing  but  he'll  obey.  — 
If  you  have  a  ring  about  you,  cast  it  off,  510 

Or  a  silver  seal  at  your  wrist ;  her  grace  will  send 
Her  fairies  here  to  search  you,  therefore  deal 
Directly  with  her  highness  :  if  they  find 
That  you  conceal  a  mite,  you  are  undone. 

Dap.  Truly,  there's  all. 

Face.  All  what? 

Dap.  My  money  :  truly. 

Face.  Keep  nothing  that  is  transitory  about  you. 
{Aside  to  Subtle.)  Bid  Dol  play  music.  —  Look,  the  elves 
are  come  \I)oia  plays  on  the  cittern  within. 

To  pinch  you,  if  you  tell  not  truth.    Advise  you.  520 

\They  pinch  him. 

Dap.  Oh  !  I  have  a  paper  with  a  spur-ryal  ^  in't. 

Face.   Ti,  ti. 

1  A  gold  coin,  valued  at  15J.  in  1606. 


196  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  III. 

They  knew't,  they  say. 

Sub,  Tif  tij  ti,  ti.     He  has  more  yet. 

Face.  Tij  ti-ti-ti.     In  the  other  pocket.        \Aside  to  Sub. 

Sub.  Titi,  iitiy  titi,  tifi,  titi. 
They  must  pinch  him  or  he  will  never  confess,  they  say. 

\They  pinch  him  again. 

Dap.  Oh,  oh  ! 

Face.  Nay,  pray  you  hold  :  he  is  her  grace's  nephew. 
Tiy  ti,  ti?    What  care  you  ?     Good  faith,  you  shall  care.  — 
Deal  plainly,  sir,  and  shame  the  fairies.     Show  531 

You  are  innocent. 

Dap.  By  this  good  light,  I  have  nothing. 

Sub.  Ti,  ti,  ti,  ti,  to,  ta.     He  does  equivocate,  she  says  : 
Ti,  ti,  do  ti,  ti,  ti,  do,  ti,  da;  and  swears  by  the  light  when 
he  is  blinded. 

Dap.  By  this  good  dark,  I  have  nothing  but  a  half-crown 
Of  gold  about  my  wrist,  that  my  love  gave  me ; 
And  a  leaden  heart  I  wore  since  she  forsook  me. 

Face.  I  thought  'twas  something.     And  would  you  incur 
Your  aunt's  displeasure  for  these  trifles?     Come,  540 

I  had  rather  you  had  thrown  away  twenty  half-crowns. 

{Takes  it  off. 
You  may  wear  your  leaden  heart  still.  — 

Enter  Dol  hastily. 

How  now  I 

Sub.  What  news,  Dol? 
Dol.  Yonder's  your  knight,  Sir  Mammon. 
Face.  Ods  lid,  we  never  thought  of  him  till  now  ! 
Where  is  he? 

Dol.  Here  hard  by  :  he  is  at  the  door. 

Sub.  And  you  are  not  ready,  now  !     Dol,  get  his  suit. 

{Exit  DoL. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  X97 

He  must  not  be  sent  back. 

Face.  Oh,  by  no  means.  550 

What  shall  we  do  with  this  same  puffin  ^  here, 
Now  he's  on  the  spit? 

Sub.  Why,  lay  him  back  awhile 
With  some  device. 

Re-enter  DoL  with  Face's  clothes, 

—  Ti^  ti,  ti,  tif  ti,  ti.     Would  her  grace  speak  with  me  ? 

I  come.  —  Help,  Dol !  \_Knocking  without. 

Face  {speaks  through  the  key-hole).     Who's  there?     Sir 
Epicure, 
My  master's  in  the  way.     Please  you  to  walk 
Three  or  four  turns,  but  till  his  back  be  turned, 
And  I  am  for  you.     Quickly,  Dol !  560 

Sub.  Her  grace 
Commends  her  kindly  to  you.  Master  Dapper. 

Dap.  I  long  to  see  her  grace. 

Sub.  She  now  is  set 
At  dinner  in  her  bed,  and  she  has  sent  you 
From  her  own  private  trencher  a  dead  mouse. 
And  a  piece  of  gingerbread,  to  be  merry  withal, 
And  stay  your  stomach,  lest  you  faint  with  fasting. 
Yet  if  you  could  hold  out  till  she  saw  you,  she  says 
It  would  be  better  for  you.  570 

Face.  Sir,  he  shall 
Hold  out,  an  'twere  this  two  hours,  for  her  highness ; 
I  can  assure  you  that.     We  will  not  lose 
All  we  have  done. 

Sub.  He  must  not  see  nor  speak 
To  anybody  till  then. 

1  Kind  of  gull. 


198  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

Face.  For  that  we'll  put,  sir, 
A  stay  in's  mouth. 

Sub.  Of  what? 

Face.  Of  gingerbread.  580 

Make  you  it  fit.     He  that  hath  pleased  her  grace 
Thus  far,  shall  not  now  crinkle  ^  for  a  little.  — 
Gape,  sir,  and  let  him  fit  you. 

[They  thrust  a  gag  of  gingerbread  in  his  mouth. 

Sub.  Come  along,  sir, 
I  now  must  show  you  Fortune's  privy  lodgings. 

Face.  Are  they  perfumed,  and  his  bath  ready  ? 

Sub.  All: 
Only  the  fumigation's  somewhat  strong. 

Face  {speaking  through  the  key-hole).  Sir  Epicure,  I  am 
yours,  sir,  by-and-by.  \_Exeunt  with  Dapper. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Room  in  Lovewit's  House. 
Enter  Face  and  Mammon. 

Face.  Oh,  sir,  you  are  come  in  the  only  finest  time. 
Mam.  Where's  master? 
Face.  Now  preparing  for  projection,  sir. 
Your  stuff  will  be  all  changed  shortly. 
Mam.  Into  gold? 
Face.  To  gold  and  silver,  sir. 
Mam.  Silver  I  care  not  for. 
Face.  Yes,  sir,  a  little  to  give  beggars. 
Mam.  Where's  the  lady? 

1  Bend,  waver. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  1 99 

Face.  At  hand  here.     I  have  told  her  such  brave  things  of 
you,  10 

Touching  your  bounty  and  your  noble  spirit 

Mam.  Hast  thou? 

Face.  As  she  is  almost  in  her  fit  to  see  you. 
But,  good  sir,  no  divinity  in  your  conference. 
For  fear  of  putting  her  in  rage. 

Mam.  I  warrant  thee. 

Face.  Six  men,  sir,  will  not  hold  her  down ;  and  then 
If  the  old  man  should  hear  or  see  you 

Mam.  Fear  not. 

Face.  The  very  house,  sir,  would  run  mad.    You  know  it,  20 
How  scrupulous  he  is,  and  violent, 
'Gainst  the  least  act  of  sin.^     Physic  or  mathematics. 
Poetry,  state,  or  frolic,  as  I  told  you, 
She  will  endure,  and  never  startle  ;  but 
No  word  of  controversy. 

Mam.  I  am  schooled,  good  Ulen. 

Face.  And  you  must  praise  her  house,  remember  that, 
And  her  nobility. 

Mam.  Let  me  alone  ; 
No  herald,  no,  nor  antiquary.  Lungs,  30 

Shall  do  it  better.     Go. 

Face  {aside) .  Why,  this  is  yet 
A  kind  of  modern  happiness  to  have 
Dol  Common  for  a  great  lady.  [^Exif. 

Mam.  Now,  Epicure, 
Heighten  thyself,  talk  to  her  all  in  gold ; 
Rain  her  as  many  showers  as  Jove  did  drops 
Unto  his  Danae  ;  show  the  god  a  miser 
Compared  with  Mammon.     What !     The  stone  will  do't. 

1  Alchemists  pretended  to  lead  spotless  lives,  in  order  to  the  success  of 
their  experiments. 


200  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

She  shall  feel  gold,  taste  gold,  hear  gold,  sleep  gold ;  40 

I  will  be  puissant  and  mighty  in  my  talk  to  her. 

Re-enter  Face,  with  DoL  richly  dressed. 

Here  she  comes. 

Face.  To  him,  Dol,  suckle  him.    This  is  the  noble  knight ; 
I  told  your  ladyship 

Mam.  Madam,  with  your  pardon, 
I  kiss  your  vesture. 

Dol.  Sir,  I  were  uncivil 
If  I  would  suffer  that ;  my  lip  to  you,  sir. 

Mam.  I  hope  my  lord,  your  brother,  be  in  health,  lady. 

Dol.  My  lord,  my  brother  is,  though  I  no  lady,  sir.  50 

Face  {aside).  Well  said,  my  Guinea  bird. 

Mam.  Right  noble  madam 

Face  {aside) .  Oh,  we  shall  have  most  fierce  idolatry. 

Mam.  'Tis  your  prerogative 

Dol.  Rather  your  courtesy. 

Mam.  Were  there  nought  else  to  enlarge  your  virtues  to 
me. 
These  answers  speak  your  breeding  and  your  blood. 

Dol.  Blood  we  boast  none,  sir,  a  poor  baron's  daughter. 

Mam.  Poor !     And   gat  you  ?     Profane  not.     Had  your 
father 
Slept  all  the  happy  remnant  of  his  life  60 

He  had  done  enough  to  make  himself,  his  issue, 
And  his  posterity  noble. 

Dol.  Sir,  although 
We  may  be  said  to  want  the  gilt  and  trappings, 
The  dress  of  honour,  yet  we  strive  to  keep 
The  seeds  and  the  materials. 

Mam.  I  do  see 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  20I 

The  old  ingredient,  virtue,  was  not  lost. 

Nor  the  drug  money  used  to  make  your  compound. 

There  is  a  strange  nobility  in  your  eye,  70 

This  lip,  that  chin  !     Methinks  you  do  resemble 

One  of  the  Austrian  princes.^ 

Face  {aside).  Very  like  ! 
Her  father  was  an  Irish  costermonger.'^ 

Mam.  The  House  of  Valois^  just  had  such  a  nose, 
And  such  a  forehead  yet  the  Medici 
Of  Florence  boast. 

Dol.  Troth,  and  I  have  been  likened 
To  all  these  princes. 

Face  {aside).  I'll  be  sworn  I  heard  it.  80 

Mam.    I  know  not  how  !     It  is  not  any  one. 
But  e'en  the  very  choice  of  all  their  features. 

Face  {aside).  I'll  in,  and  laugh.  \_Exit 

Mam.  A  certain  touch,  or  air. 
That  sparkles  a  divinity  beyond 
An  earthly  beauty  ! 

Dol.  Oh,  you  play  the  courtier. 

Mam.  Good  lady,  give  me  leave 

Dol.  In  faith  I  may  not, 
To  mock  me,  sir.  90 

Mam.  To  burn  in  this  sweet  flame ; 
The  phoenix  never  knew  a  nobler  death. 

Dol.  Nay,  now  you  court  the  courtier,  and  destroy 
What  you  would  build  :  this  art,  sir,  in  your  words 
Calls  your  whole  faith  in  question. 

1  The  Hapsburgers  were  noted  for  "  a  sweet  fulness  of  the  lower  lip." 
Swift  assigned  this  feature  to  the  Emperor  of  Lilliput. 

2  The  hucksters  in  London  were  usually  Irish. 

*  The  characteristic  feature  of  the  Valois  was  a  Roman  nose. 


202  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  iv. 

Mam.  By  my  soul 


Dol.  Nay,  oaths  are  made  of  the  same  air,  sir. 

Mam.   Nature 
Never  bestow'd  upon  mortaUty 

A  more  unblamed,  a  more  harmonious  feature ;  loo 

She  played  the  step-dame  in  all  faces  else  : 
Sweet  madam,  let  me  be  particular 

Dol.  Particular,  sir  !     I  pray  you  know  your  distance. 

Mam.  In  no  ill  sense,  sweet  lady ;  but  to  ask 
How  your  fair  graces  pass  the  hours  ?     I  see 
You  are  lodged  here  in  the  house  of  a  rare  man. 
An  excellent  artist ;  but  what's  that  to  you  ? 

Dol.  Yes,  sir ;  I  study  here  the  mathematics 
And  distillation.^ 

Mam.  Oh,  I  cry  your  pardon.  no 

He's  a  divine  instructor  :  can  extract 
The  souls  of  all  things  by  his  art ;  call  all 
The  virtues  and  the  miracles  of  the  sun 
Into  a  temperate  furnace  ;  teach  dull  nature 
What  her  own  forces  are.     A  man,  the  emperor 
Has  courted  above  Kelly  ^ ;  sent  his  medals 
And  chains  to  invite  him. 

Dol.  Ay,  and  for  his  physic,  sir, 

1  That  is,  astrology  and  alchemy. 

2  Edward  Kelly,  or  Talbot,  a  notorious  impostor  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
was  born  at  Worcester,  and  apprenticed  to  an  apothecary.  Being  con- 
victed of  fraud,  his  ears  were  cut  off.  Dee,  another  alchemist,  took  Kelly 
and  Zaski,  a  young  Pole,  abroad.  Kelly  pretended  to  have  discovered  the 
philosopher's  stone,  and  was  patronized  by  the  Emperor  Rudolf  W,  who 
entertained  him  at  Prague  for  a  long  time.  But  as  the  stone  did  not  mate- 
rialize, Kelly  and  his  accomplices  were  thrown  into  prison.  In  attempting 
to  escape,  Kelly  broke  his  leg,  and  died.  Gifford  remarks  that  this  fraudu- 
lent trio  —  Kelly,  Dee,  and  Zaski  —  may  have  suggested  Subtle,  Face,  and 
Doly  to  Jonson. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  203 

Mam.  Above  the  art  of  ^sculapius, 
That  drew  the  envy  of  the  Thunderer  !  120 

I  know  all  this,  and  more. 

Dol.  Troth,  I  am  taken,  sir. 
Whole  with  these  studies,  that  contemplate  nature. 

Mam.  It  is  a  noble  humour ;  but  this  form 
Was  not  intended  to  so  dark  a  use. 
Had  you  been  crooked,  foul,  of  some  coarse  mould, 
A  cloister  had  done  well ;  but  such  a  feature 
That  might  stand  up  the  glory  of  a  kingdom. 
To  live  recluse,  is  a  mere  solecism. 

Though  in  a  nunnery.     It  must  not  be.  130 

I  muse,  my  lord  your  brother  will  permit  it : 
You  should  spend  half  my  land  first,  were  I  he. 
Does  not  this  diamond  better  on  my  finger 
Than  in  the  quarry? 

Dol.  Yes. 

Mam.  Why,  you  are  like  it. 
You  were  created,  lady,  for  the  light. 
Here,  you  shall  wear  it ;  take  it,  the  first  pledge 
Of  what  I  speak,  to  bind  you  to  believe  me. 

Dol.  In  chains  of  adamant  ?  140 

Mam.  Yes,  the  strongest  bands. 
And  take  a  secret  too  —  here,  by  your  side. 
Doth  stand  this  hour  the  happiest  man  in  Europe. 

Dol.  You  are  contented,  sir? 

Mam.  Nay,  in  true  being. 
The  envy  of  princes  and  the  fear  of  states. 

Dol.  Say  you  so.  Sir  Epicure  ? 

Mam.  Yes,  and  thou  shalt  prove  it, 
Daughter  of  honour.     I  have  cast  mine  eye 
Upon  thy  form,  and  I  will  rear  this  beauty  150 


204  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

Above  all  styles. 

Dol.  You  mean  no  treason,  sir? 

Mam.  No,  I  will  take  away  that  jealousy. 
I  am  the  lord  of  the  philosopher's  stone, 
And  thou  the  lady. 

Dol.  How  sir  !     Have  you  that  ? 

Mam.  I  am  the  master  of  the  mastery.^ 
This  day  the  good  old  wretch  here  o'  the  house 
Has  made  it  for  us  ;  now  he's  at  projection. 
Think  therefore  thy  first  wish  now,  let  me  hear  it,  i6o 

And  it  shall  rain  into  thy  lap,  no  shower. 
But  floods  of  gold,  whole  cataracts,  a  deluge, 
To  get  a  nation  on  thee. 

Dol.  You  are  pleased,  sir. 
To  work  on  the  ambition  of  our  sex. 

Mam.  I  am  pleased  the  glory  of  her  sex  should  know 
This  nook,  here,  of  the  Friars  is  no  climate 
For  her  to  live  obscurely  in,  to  learn 
Physic  and  surgery,  for  the  constable's  wife 
Of  some  odd  hundred  in  Essex ;  but  come  forth  170 

And  taste  the  air  of  palaces  ;  eat,  drink 
The  toils  of  empirics,  and  their  boasted  practice ; 
Tincture  of  pearl  and  coral,  gold  and  amber ; 
Be  seen  at  feasts  and  triumphs ;  have  it  asked. 
What  miracle  she  is  ;  set  all  the  eyes 
Of  court  a-fire,  hke  a  burning  glass. 
And  work  them  into  cinders,  when  the  jewels 
Of  twenty  states  adorn  thee,  and  the  light 
Strikes  out  the  stars  !    that  when  thy  name  is  mentioned 
Queens  may  look  pale  ;  and  we  but  showing  our  love,        180 
Nero's  Poppaea  may  be  lost  in  story  ! 

1  Magisterium. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  205 

Thus  will  we  have  it. 

DoL  I  could  well  consent  sir. 
But  in  a  monarchy  how  will  this  be  ? 
The  prince  will  soon  take  notice,  and  both  seize 
You  and  your  stone,  it  being  a  wealth  unfit 
For  any  private  subject. 

Mam.  If  he  knew  it. 

DoL  Yourself  do  boast  it,  sir. 

Mam,  To  thee,  my  Hfe.  190 

DoL  Oh,  but  beware,  sir  !  you  may  come  to  end 
The  remnant  of  your  days  in  a  loathed  prison, 
By  speaking  of  it. 

Mam.  'Tis  no  idle  fear  : 
We'll  therefore  go  withal,  my  girl,  and  live 
In  a  free  state,  where  we  will  eat  our  mullets 
Soused  in  high-country  wines,  sup  pheasants'  eggs, 
And  have  our  cockles  boiled  in  silver  shells ; 
Our  shrimps  to  swim  again,  as  when  they  livp d, 
In  a  rare  butter  made  of  dolphins'  milk,  200 

Whose  cream  does  look  Uke  opals  :  and  with  these 
DeHcate  meats,  set  ourselves  high  for  pleasure, 
And  take  us  down  again,  and  then  renew 
Our  youth  and  strength  with  drinking  the  elixir, 
And  so  enjoy  a  perpetuity 

Of  life  and  lust !     And  thou  shalt  have  thy  wardrobe 
Richer  than  nature's,  still  to  change  thyself, 
And  vary  oftener,  for  thy  pride,  than  she. 
Or  art,  her  wise  and  almost-equal  servant. 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  Sir,  you  are  too  loud.     I  hear  you  every  word      210 
Into  the  laboratory.     Some  fitter  place  j 


206  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

The  garden  or  great  chamber  above.     How  like  you  her? 

Mam.  Excellent !    Lungs.     There's  for  thee. 

\Gives  him  money. 

Face,  But  do  you  hear? 
Good  sir,  beware,  no  mention  of  the  rabbins. 

Mam.  We  think  not  on  'em.        {^Exeunt  Mam.  and  Dol. 

Face.  Oh,  it  is  well,  sir.  —  Subtle  ! 

Enter  Subtle. 

Dost  thou  not  laugh  ? 

Sub.  Yes  ;  are  they  gone  ? 

Face.  All's  clear.  220 

Sub.  The  widow  is  come. 

Face.  And  your  quarrelling  disciple? 

Sub.  Ay. 

Face.  I  must  to  my  captainship  again,  then. 

Sub.  Stay,  bring  them  in  first. 

Face.  So  I  meant.     What  is  she  ? 
A  bonnibel  ? 

Sub.  I  know  not. 

Face.  We'll  draw  lots  : 
You'll  stand  to  that?  230 

Sub.  What  else? 

Face.  Oh,  for  a  suit. 
To  fall  now  like  a  curtain,  flap  ! 

Sub.  To  the  door,  man. 

Face.  You'll  have  the  first  kiss,  'cause  I  am  not  ready. 

{^Exit. 

Sub.  Yes,  and  perhaps  hit  you  through  both  the  nostrils. 

Face  {within^.  Who  would  you  speak  with? 

Kas.  {ivithin).  Where's  the  captain? 

Face  {within).  Gone,  sir. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  207 

About  some  business.  240 

Kas.  {within).  Gone! 

Face  {within).  He'll  return  straight. 
But  Master  Doctor,  his  lieutenant,  is  here. 

Enter  Kastril,  followed  by  Dame  Pliant. 

Sub.  Come  near,  my  worshipful  boy,  my  terrcefili^ 
That  is,  my  boy  of  land  ;  make  thy  approaches  : 
Welcome ;  I  know  thy  lusts  and  thy  desires, 
And  I  will  serve  and  satisfy  them.     Begin, 
Charge  me  from  thence,  or  thence,  or  in  this  line ; 
Here  is  my  centre  :  ground  thy  quarrel. 

Kas.  You  lie.  250 

Sub.  How,  child  of  wrath  and  anger  !  the  loud  lie  ? 
For  what,  my  sudden  boy  ? 

Kas.  Nay,  that  look  you  to, 
I  am  aforehand. 

Sub.  Oh,  this  is  no  true  grammar, 
And  as  ill  logic  !     You  must  render  causes,  child, 
Your  first  and  second  intentions,  know  your  canons 
And  your  divisions,  moods,  degrees,  and  differences, 
Your  predicaments,  substance,  and  accident. 
Series,  extern  and  intern,  with  their  causes,  260 

Efficient,  material,  formal,  final. 
And  have  your  elements  perfect? 

Kas.  {aside).  What  is  this  ! 
The  angry  tongue  he  talks  in? 

Sub.  That  false  precept 
Of  being  aforehand  has  deceived  a  number, 
And  made  them  enter  quarrels,  oftentimes 
Before  they  were  aware  ;  and  afterward 
Against  their  wills. 


2o8  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

Kas,  How  must  I  do  then,  sir  ?  270 

Sub.  I  cry  this  lady  mercy  :  she  should  first 
Have  been  saluted.     {Kisses  her.)     I  do  call  you  lady, 
Because  you  are  to  be  one  ere't  be  long, 
My  soft  and  buxom  widow. 

Kas.  Is  she,  i'  faith? 

Sub.  Yes,  or  my  art  is  an  egregious  liar. 

Kas.  How  know  you  ? 

Sub.  By  inspection  on  her  forehead. 
And  subtlety  of  her  lip,  which  must  be  tasted 
Often,  to  make  a  judgment.     {Kisses  her  again.) 

'Slight,  she  melts  280 

Like  a  myrobolane  ^ :  —  here  is  yet  a  line. 
In  rivo  frotitis J  tells  me  he  is  no  knight. 

Dame  P.  What  is  he  then,  sir  ? 

Sub.  Let  me  see  your  hand. 
Oh,  your  linea  fortunce  makes  it  plain  ; 
And  Stella  here  in  Monte  Veneris. 
But,  most  oi  diW,  June tura  annularis.^ 
He  is  a  soldier,  or  a  man  of  art,  lady, 
But  shall  have  some  great  honour  shortly. 

Dame  P.  Brother,  290 

He's  a  rare  man,  beUeve  me  ! 

Re-enter  Face  in  his  uniform. 

Kas.  Hold  your  peace. 
Here  comes  the  t'other  rare  man.  —  Save  you,  captain. 

Face.  Good  Master  Kastril !     Is  this  your  sister? 

Kas.  Ay,  sir. 
Please  you  to  kuss  her,  and  be  proud  to  know  her. 

Face.  I  shall  be  proud  to  know  you,  lady.        \_Kisses  her. 

1  A  dried  plum.  2  See  Subtle  s  speech,  p.  138. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  209 

Dame  P.  Brother, 
He  calls  me  lady  too. 

Kas.  Ay,  peace  :  I  heard  it.         \Takes  her  aside,        300 

Face.  The  count  is  come. 

Sub.  Where  is  he? 

Face.  At  the  door. 

Sub.  Why,  you  must  entertain  him. 

Face.  What  will  you  do 
With  these  the  while? 

Sub.  Why,  have  them  up,  and  show  them 
Some  fustian  book,  or  the  dark  glass. 

Face.  'Fore  God, 
She  is  a  delicate  dab-chick  ^ !    I  must  have  her.    \^Exit.     310 

Sub.  Must  you  !  ay,  if  your  fortune  will,  you  must.  — 
Come,  sir,  the  captain  will  come  to  us  presently : 
I'll  have  you  to  my  chamber  of  demonstrations. 
Where  I  will  show  you  both  the  grammar  and  logic 
And  rhetoric  of  quarrelling ;  my  whole  method 
Drawn  out  in  tables ;  and  my  instrument. 
That  hath  the  several  scales  upon't,  shall  make  you 
Able  to  quarrel  at  a  straw's-breadth  by  moonlight. 
And,  lady,  I'll  have  you  look  in  a  glass. 
Some  half  an  hour,  but  to  clear  your  eyesight,  320 

Against  you  see  your  fortune  ;  which  is  greater 
Than  I  may  judge  upon  the  sudden,  trust  me. 

{Exit,  followed  by  Kas.  andV^kMS.  P. 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  Where  are  you,  doctor? 

Sub.  {within).  I'll  come  to  you  presently. 

1  Small  waterfowl. 


2IO  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

Face.  I  will  have  this  same  widow,  now  I  have  seen  her, 
On  any  composition. 

Re-enter  Subtle. 

Sub.  What  do  you  say? 

Face.  Have  you  disposed  of  them  ? 

Sub.  I  have  sent  them  up. 

Face.  Subtle,  in  troth,  I  needs  must  have  this  widow.    330 

Sub.  Is  that  the  matter? 

Face.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Sub.  Go  to, 
If  you  rebel  once,  Dol  shall  know  it  all : 
Therefore  be  quiet,  and  obey  your  chance. 

Face.  Nay,  thou  art  so  violent  now.     Do  but  conceive 
Thou  art  old  and  canst  not  serve 

Sub.  Who  cannot?     I? 
'Slight,  I  will  serve  her  with  thee,  for  a 


Face.  Nay,  340 

But  understand  :  I'll  give  you  composition. 

Sub.  I  will  not  treat  with  thee  :  what !  sell  my  fortune  ? 
'Tis  better  than  my  birthright.     Do  not  murmur  : 
Win  her,  and  carry  her.     If  you  grumble,  Dol 
Knows  it  directly. 

Face.  Well,  sir,  I  am  silent. 
Will  you  go  help  to  fetch  in  Don  in  state  ?  \^Exit. 

Sub.  I  follow  you,  sir  :  we  must  keep  Face  in  awe, 
Or  he  will  overlook  us  like  a  tyrant. 

Re-enter  Face,  introducing  Surley  disguised  as  a  Spaniard. 

Brain  of  a  tailor  !  who  comes  here  ?  Don  John  ^  !  350 

1  Don  John  of  Austria,  hero  of  the  battle  of  Lepanto  in  1571 ;  he  was 
often  represented  in  tapestries  in  Jonson's  time. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  211 

Sur.  Senores,  beso  las  manos  a  vuestras  mercedes} 

Sub.  Stab  me  :  I  shall  never  hold,  man. 
He  looks  in  that  deep  ruff  like  a  head  in  a  platter, 
Served  in  by  a  short  cloak  upon  two  trestles. 

Face.  Or,  what  do   you  say  to  a  collar  of  brawn,  cut 
down 
Beneath  the  souse,^  and  wriggled  with  a  knife  ? 

Sub.  'Slud,  he  does  look  too  fat  to  be  a  Spaniard. 

Face.  Perhaps   some    Fleming   or   some    Hollander  got 
him 
In  D 'Alva's  time  ;  Count  Egmont's  bastard.^ 

Sub.  Don,  360 

Your  scurvy,  yellow,  Madrid  face  is  welcome. 

Su7'.   Gratia. 

Sub.  He  speaks  out  of  a  fortification. 
Pray  God  he  have  no  squibs  in  those  deep  sets.* 

Sur.  For  dios,  sehores,  muy  linda  casa!^ 

Sub.  What  says  he  ? 

Face.  Praises  the  house,  I  think ; 
I  know  no  more  but's  action. 

Sub.  Yes,  the  casa, 
My  precious  Diego  will  prove  fair  enough  370 

To  cozen  you  in.     Do  you  mark?     You  shall 
Be  cozened,  Diego. 

Face.  Cozened,  do  you  see. 
My  worthy  Donzel,  cozened. 

Sur.  Entiendo^ 

1  Usual  Spanish  salutation ;  "  Gentlemen,  I  kiss  your  hands." 

2  Ear. 

3  Alva,  the  atrocious  Spanish  governor  of  the  Netherlands,  from  1567  to 
1573,  who  put  to  death  Egmont,  a  Flemish  noble,  in  1568. 

■*  Plaits  in  his  ruff. 

5  "  Gad,  sirs,  a  very  pretty  house."  6  "  i  understand." 


212  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

Sub.  Do  you  intend  it?     So  do  we,  dear  Don. 
Have  you  brought  pistolets  ^  or  portagues, 
My  solemn  Don? — Dost  thou  feel  any? 

Face  {feels  his  pockets^.  Full. 

Sub.  You  shall  be  emptied,  Don,  pumped  and  drawn    380 
Dry,  as  they  say. 

Face.  Milked,  in  troth,  sweet  Don. 

Sub.  See  all  the  monsters  ;  the  great  lion  of  all,  Don. 

Sur.   Con  licencia,  se puede  ver  a  esta  senora  ?^ 

Sub.  What  talks  he  now  ? 

Face.  Of  the  senora. 

Sub.  Oh,  Don, 
That  is  the  lioness,  which  you  shall  see 
Also,  my  Don. 

Face.  'Slid,  Subtle,  how  shall  we  do  ?  390 

Sub.  For  what? 

Face.  Why  Dol's  employed,  you  know. 

Sub.  That's  true, 
'Fore  heaven  I  know  not :  he  must  stay,  that's  all. 

Face.  Stay  !  that  he  must  not  by  no  means. 

Sub.  No!     Why? 

Face.  Unless  you'll  mar  all.     'Slight,  he  will  suspect  it : 
And  then  he  will  not  pay,  not  half  so  well. 
This  is  a  travelled  master,  and  does  know 
All  the  delays  ;  a  notable  hot  rascal,  400 

And  looks  already  rampant. 

Sub.  'Sdeath,  and  Mammon  must  not  be  troubled. 

Face.  Mammon  !  in  no  case. 

Sub.  What  shall  we  do  then? 

Face.  Think  :  you  must  be  sudden. 

1  Coins.  2  "  If  you  please,  may  I  see  the  lady  ?  " 


SCENE  I.J  THE  ALCHEMIST.  213 

Sur.  Entiendo  que  la  senora  es  tan  hermosa,  que  codicio 
tan  verla,  como  la  Men  aventuran^a  de  mi  vida} 

Face.  Mi  vida  !  'Slid,  Subtle,  he  puts  me  in  mind  o'  the 
widow. 
What  dost  thou  say  to  draw  her  to  it,  ha  ! 
And  tell  her  'tis  her  fortune  ?     All  our  venture  410 

Now  lies  upon't.     It  is  but  one  man  more, 
Which  of  us  chance  to  have  her  :  and  beside,  — 
What  dost  thou  think  on't,  Subtle  ? 

Sub.  Who,  I?     Why 

Face.  The  credit  of  our  house  too  is  engaged. 

Sub.  You  made  me  an  offer  for  my  share  erewhile. 
What  wilt  thou  give  me  i'  faith  ? 

Face.  Oh,  by  that  light 
I'll  not  buy  now  :  you  know  your  doom  to  me. 
E'en  take  your  lot,  obey  your  chance,  sir ;  win  her,  420 

And  wear  her  out,  for  me. 

Sub.  'SHght,  I'll  not  have  her  then. 

Face.  It  is  the  common  cause  ;  therefore  bethink  you. 
Dol  else  must  know  it  as  you  said. 

S^ib.  I  care  not. 

Sur.  Senores,  porque  se  tarda  tanto  ?^ 

Sub.  Faith,  I  am  not  fit,  I  am  old. 

Face.  That's  now  no  reason,  sir. 

Sur.  Puede  ser,  de  hacer  burla  de  mi  amor  ?^ 

Face.  You  hear  the  Don  too  ?  by  this  air  I  call,  430 

And  loose  the  hinges  :  Dol ! 

Sub.  A  plague  of  hell 

Face.  Will  you  then  do  ? 

1  "  I  hear  the  lady  is  so  handsome,  that  I  am  eager  to  see  her,  as  the 
best  fortune  of  my  Hfe." 

2  "  Why  this  long  delay,  sirs  ?  " 

8  "  Can  it  be  to  make  sport  of  my  love  ?  " 


214  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

Sub.  You  are  a  terrible  rogue  ! 
I'll  think  of  this  :  will  you,  sir,  call  the  widow? 

Face.  Yes,  and  I'll  take  her  too  with  all  her  faults, 
Now  I  do  think  on't  better. 

Sub.  With  all  my  heart,  sir ; 
Am  I  discharged  o'  the  lot? 

Face.  As  you  please.  440 

Sub.  Hands.  \They  take  hands. 

Face.  Remember  now,  that  upon  any  change 
You  never  claim  her. 

Stib.  Much  good  joy  and  health  to  you,  sir. 
Marry  her  so  !     Fate,  let  me  wed  a  witch  first. 

Sur.  For  estas  honradas  barbas  ^ 

Sub.  He  swears  by  his  beard. 
Dispatch,  and  call  the  brother  too.  \_Exit  Face. 

Sur.  Tengo    duda^   senores,    que    no    7ne   hagan    alguna 
traycion?  450 

Sub.  How,  issue  on  ?  yes,  praesto,  senor.     Please  you 
Enthratha  the  chambratha,  worthy  Don  : 
Where  if  you  please  the  fates,  in  your  bathada, 
You  shall  be  soaked,  and  stroked,  and  tubbed,  and  rubbed, 
And  scrubbed,  and  fubbed,  dear  Don,  before  you  go. 
You  shall  in  faith,  my  scurvy  baboon  Don, 
Be  curried,  clawed,  and  flawed,  and  tawed  indeed. 
I  will  the  heartilier  go  about  it  now. 
And  make  the  widow  yours  so  much  the  sooner. 
To  be  revenged  on  this  impetuous  Face  :  460 

The  quickly  doing  of  it  is  the  grace. 

\_Exeunf  Sub.  and  Surly.^ 

1  "  By  these  honored  beards." 

2  "  I  suspect,  sirs,  that  you  are  playing  a  trick  on  me." 

8  "  The  Spanish  speeches  smack  of  a  Conversation  Book.    Jonson  seems 
to  have  borrowed  this  device  from  Plautus,  in  Pcenulus." — Gifford. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  215 

Scene  II.  —  Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Face,  Kastril,  and  Dame  Pliant. 

Face.  Come,  lady :  I  knew  the  doctor  would  not  leave 
Till  he  had  found  the  very  nick  of  her  fortune. 

Kas.  To  be  a  countess,  say  you,  a  Spanish  countess,  sir? 

Dame  P.  Why,  is  that  better  than  an  English  countess  ? 

Face.  Better  !     'Slight,  make  you  that  a  question,  lady?^ 

Kas.  Nay,  she  is  a  fool,  captain,  you  must  pardon  her. 

Face.  Ask  from  your  courtier,  to  your  Inns-of-Court  man, 
To  your  mere  milliner ;  they  will  tell  you  all. 
Your  Spanish  gennet  is  the  best  horse ;  your  Spanish 
Stoup^  is  the  best  garb ;  your  Spanish  beard  10 

Is  the  best  cut ;  your  Spanish  ruffs  are  the  best 
Wear;  your  Spanish  pavin^  the  best  dance  ; 
Your  Spanish  titillation  in  a  glove 
The  best  perfume  :  and  for  your  Spanish  pike 
And  Spanish  blade,  let  your  poor  captain  speak  — 
Here  comes  the  doctor. 

Enter  Subtle,  with  a  paper. 

Sub.  My  most  honoured  lady. 
For  so  I  am  now  to  style  you,  having  found 
By  this  my  scheme  you  are  to  undergo 

An  honourable  fortune  very  shortly,  20 

What  will  you  say  now,  if  some 

Face.  I  have  told  her  all,  sir ; 
And  her  right  worshipful  brother  here,  that  she  shall  be 

1  In  the  early  years  of  James  I's  reign,  Spanish  influence  and  Spanish 
fashions  were  paramount  in  English  court  society. 

2  No  commentator  nor  dictionary  explains  this  word. 

3  The  pavane,  a  grave  and  stately  dance,  so  called  from  the  city  of  Pavia 


2l6  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

A  countess  ;  do  not  delay  them,  sir  :  a  Spanish  countess. 

Sub.  Still,  my  scarce-worshipful  captain,  you  can  keep 
No  secret !     Well,  since  he  has  told  you,  madam, 
Do  you  forgive  him,  and  I  do. 

Kas.  She  shall  do  that,  sir ; 
I'll  look  to't,  'tis  my  charge. 

Sub.  Well  then ;  nought  rests  30 

But  that  she  fit  her  love  now  to  her  fortune. 

Dame  P.  Truly,  I  shall  never  brook  a  Spaniard. 

Sub.  No  ! 

Dame  P.  Never  since  eighty-eight  ^  could  I  abide  them. 
And  that  was  some  three  years  afore  I  was  born,  in  truth. 

Sub.  Come,  you  must  love  him,  or  be  miserable ; 
Choose  which  you  will. 

Face.  By  this  good  rush,  persuade  her. 

Kas.  Ods  lid,  you  shall  love  him,  or  I'll  kick  you. 

Dame  P.  Why,  40 

I'll  do  as  you  will  have  me,  brother. 

Kas.  Do, 
Or  by  this  hand  I'll  maul  you. 

Face.   Nay,  good  sir, 
Be  not  so  fierce. 

Sub.  No,  my  enraged  child  ; 
She  will  be  ruled.     What,  when  she  comes  to  taste 
The  pleasures  of  a  countess  !  to  be  courted 

Face.  And  kissed,  and  then  come  forth  in  pomp. 

Sub.  And  know  her  state  !  50 

Face.  Of  keeping  all  the  idolators  of  the  chamber 
Barer  to  her  than  at  their  prayers  ! 

Sub.  Is  served 
Upon  the  knee  ! 

1  1588 ;  when  the  English  defeated  the  Spanish  Armada. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  21 7 

Face.  And  has  her  pages,  ushers, 
Footmen,  and  coaches 

Sub.     Her  six  mares 

Face.  Nay,  eight ! 

Sub.  To  hurry  her  through  London,  to  the  Exchange, 
Bethlem,^  the  china-houses 60 

Face.  Yes,  and  have 
The  citizens  gape  at  her,  and  praise  her  tires. 
And  my  lord's  humble  bands,  that  ride  with  her. 

Kas.  Most  brave  !     By  this  hand,  you  are  not  my  suster 
If  you  refuse. 

Dame  P.  I  will  not  refuse,  brother. 

Enter  Surly. 

Sur.   Que  es  esto,  senores,  que  non  venga  ?     Esta  tardanza 
me  mata  I  ^ 

Face.  It  is  the  Count  come  : 
The  doctor  knew  he  would  be  here,  by  his  art.  70 

Sub.  En  gallanta  madama,  Don  !  gallantissima  I 

Sur.  For  iodos  los  dioses^  la  mas  acabada  hermosura, 
que  he  vis  to  en  mi  vida  !  ^ 

Face.  Is't  not  a  gallant  language  that  they  speak? 

Kas.  An  admirable  language  !     Is't  not  French  ? 

Face.  No,  Spanish,  sir. 

Kas.  It  goes  like  law-French, 
And  that,  they  say,  is  the  courtliest  language. 

Face.  List,  sir. 

Sur.  El  sol  ha  perdido  su  lumbre,  con  el  esplandor  que 
trae  esta  dama  /     Valgame  dios  /^  81 

1  Bedlam,  the  madhouse. 

2  "  Why  doesn't  she  come,  sirs?    This  delay  kills  me." 

3  "  By  all  the  gods,  the  most  perfect  beauty  I  ever  saw !  " 

*  "  The  sun  has  lost  its  light,  from  the  splendor  this  lady  brings." 


2l8  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

Face.  He  admires  your  sister. 

Kas.  Must  not  she  make  curtsey? 

Sub.  Ods  will,  she  must  go  to  him,  man,  and  kiss  him  ! 
It  is  the  Spanish  fashion  for  the  women 
To  make  first  court. 

Face.  'Tis  true  he  tells  you,  sir : 
His  art  knows  all. 

Su7-.  Porque  no  se  acude  ?^ 

Kas.  He  speaks  to  her,  I  think.  90 

Face.  That  he  does,  sir. 

Sur.  For  el  amor  de  dios,  que  es  esto  que  se  tarda  ?  ^ 

Kas.  Nay,  see  :  she  will  not  understand  him  !     Gull, 
Noddy.^ 

Dame  P.  What  say  you,  brother? 

Kas.  Ass,  my  suster. 
Go  kuss  him,  as  the  cunning  man  would  have  you ; 
I'll  thrust  a  pin  in  you  else. 

Face.  Oh  no,  sir. 

Sur.  Senora  mia,  mi  persona  esta  muy  indigna  de  allegar 
a  tanta  hermosura^  loi 

Face.  Does  he  not  use  her  bravely  ? 

Kas.  Bravely,  i'  faith  ! 

Face.  Nay,  he  will  use  her  better. 

Kas.  Do  you  think  so? 

Sur.  Senora,  si  sera  servida  entremonos? 

\^Exit  with  Dame  Pliant. 

Kas.  Where  does  he  carry  her? 

Face.  Into  the  garden,  sir ; 

1  "  Why  don't  you  obey  ?  " 

2  "  Why  this  delay  ?  "  8  Simpleton. 

4  "  Madam,  I  am  very  unworthy  to  approach  such  beauty." 
6  "  Madam,  you  shall  be  obeyed ;  let  us  enter." 


SCENE  UL]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  219 

Take  you  no  thought ;  I  must  interpret  for  her. 

Sub.   {aside  to  Face,  who  goes  out) .     Give  Dol  the  word.^ 
—  Come,  my  fierce  child,  advance,  no 

We'll  to  our  quarrelling  lesson  again. 

Kas.  Agreed. 
I  love  a  Spanish  boy  with  all  my  heart. 

Sub.  Nay,  and  by  this  means,  sir,  you  shall   be  brother 
To  a  great  count. 

Kas.  Ay,  I  knew  that  at  first. 
This  match  will  advance  the  house  of  the  Kastrils. 

Sub.  Pray  God  your  sister  prove  but  pliant ! 

Kas.  Why, 
Her  name  is  so,  by  her  other  husband.  120 

Sub.  How? 

Kas.  The  Widow  Pliant.     Knew  you  not  that  ? 

Sub.  No,  faith,  sir ; 
Yet,  by  erection  of  her  figure,  I  guessed  it. 
Come,  let's  go  practise. 

Kas.  Yes,  but  do  you  think,  doctor, 
I  e'er  shall  quarrel  well? 

Sub.  I  warrant  you.  \_ExeunL 


Scene  III. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Dol  in  her  fit  of  raving,  followed  by  Mammon. 

Dol.  For  after  Alexander's  death 

Mam.  Good  lady 


Dol.  That  Perdiccas  and  Antigonus  were  slain, 

The  two  that  stood,  Seleuc',  and  Ptolemy 

Mam.  Madam. 

1  To  begin  her  counterfeit  frenzy. 


230  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

DoL  Made  up  the  two  legs,  and  the  fourth  beast, 
That  was  Gog-north  and  Egypt- south  :  which  after 
Was  called  Gog-iron-leg  and  South-iron-leg 

Mam.  Lady 

DoL  And  then  Gog-horned.     So  was  Egypt  too  :  lo 

Then  Egypt-clay-leg  and  Gog-clay-leg 

Mam.  Sweet  madam 

DoL  And  last  Gog-dust  and  Egypt-dust,  which  fall 
In  the  last  Hnk  of  the  fourth  chain.     And  these 
Be  stars  in  story,  which  none  see  or  look  at 

Mam.  What  shall  I  do? 

DoL  For,  as  he  says,  except 
We  call  the  rabbins,  and  the  heathen  Greeks 

Mam.  Dear  lady 

DoL  To  come  from  Salem  and  from  Athens,  20 

And  teach  the  people  of  Great  Britain 

Enter  Face,  hastily,  in  his  Servant's  dress. 

Face.  What's  the  matter,  sir? 

DoL  To  speak  the  tongue  of  Eber  and  Javan 

Mam.  Oh, 
She's  in  her  fit. 

DoL  We  shall  know  nothing 

Face.  Death,  sir, 
We  are  undone  ! 

DoL  Where  then  a  learned  linguist 
Shall  see  the  ancient  used  communion  30 

Of  vowels  and  consonants 

Face.  My  master  will  hear  ! 

DoL  A  wisdom  which  Pythagoras  held  most  high 

Mam.  Sweet  honourable  lady  ! 

DoL  To  comprise 


SCENE  III.]                          THE  ALCHEMIST.  221 

All  sounds  of  voices,  in  few  marks  of  letters 


Face.  Nay,  you  must  never  hope  to  lay  her  now. 

\_They  all  speak. 

Vol.  And  so  we  may  arrive  by  Talmud  skill 
And  profane  Greek,  to  raise  the  building  up 
Of  Helen's  house  against  the  Ishmaelite,  40 

King  of  Thogarma,  and  his  habergions 
Brimstony,  blue,  and  fiery ;  and  the  force 
Of  King  Abaddon,  and  the  beast  of  Cittim  : 
Which  Rabbi  David  Kimchi,  Onkelos, 
And  Aben  Ezra  do  interpret  Rome. 

Face.  How  did  you  put  her  into't  ? 

Maftt.  Alas  !  I  talked 
Of  a  fifth  monarchy  I  would  erect. 
With  the  philosopher's  stone,  by  chance,  and  she 
Falls  on  the  other  four  straight.^  50 

Face.  Out  of  Broughton  ! 
I  told  you  so.     'Slid,  stop  her  mouth. 

Mam.  Is't  best? 

Face.  She'll  never  leave  else.    If  the  old  man  hear  her 

Sub.  {within).  What's  to  do  there ? 

Face.  Oh,  we  are  lost !     Now  she  hears  him,  she  is  quiet. 

Enter  Subtle  ;  they  run  different  ways. 

Mam.  Where  shall  I  hide  me  ! 

Sub.  How  !  what  sight  is  here  ? 
Close  deeds  of  darkness,  and  that  shun  the  light ! 
Bring  him  again.     Who  is  he  ?    What,  my  son  ?  60 

Oh,  I  have  lived  too  long. 

1  From  Broughton's  Concert  of  Scripture.  Broughton  was  educated  by 
Bernard  Gilpin,  and  sent  by  him  to  Cambridge.  Later,  he  quitted  the 
Church  of  England  and  joined  the  Brownists  at  Amsterdam ;  died  in  1612 


2  22  THE   ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

Mam.  Nay,  good,  dear  father, 
There  was  no  evil  purpose. 

Sub.  Not !  and  flee  me. 
When  I  come  in  ? 

Mam.  That  was  my  error. 

Sub.  Error! 
Guilt,  guilt,  my  son  :  give  it  the  right  name.     No  marvel 
If  I  found  check  in  our  great  work  within. 
When  such  affairs  as  these  were  managing.  jro 

Mam.  Why,  have  you  so? 

Sub.  It  has  stood  still  this  half-hour  : 
And  all  the  rest  of  our  less  works  gone  back. 
Where  is  the  instrument  of  wickedness, 
My  lewd  false  drudge  ? 

Mam.  Nay,  good  sir,  blame  not  him  ; 
Believe  me,  'twas  against  his  will  or  knowledge  : . 
I  saw  her  by  chance. 

Sub.  Will  you  commit  more  sin, 
To  excuse  a  varlet  ?  80 

Mam.  By  my  hope,  'tis  true,  sir. 

Sub.  Nay,  then  I  wonder  less,  if  you,  for  whom 
The  blessing  was  prepared,  would  so  tempt  heaven, 
And  lose  your  fortunes. 

Mam.  Why,  sir? 

Sub.  This  will  retard 
The  work  a  month  at  least. 

Mam.  Why,  if  it  do, 
What  remedy  ?     But  think  it  not,  good  father  : 
Our  purposes  were  honest.  90 

Sub.  As  they  were. 
So  the  reward  will  prove —  [^  loud  explosion  within. 

How  now  !     Ah  me  ! 


SCENE  III.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  223 

God  and  all  saints  be  good  to  us. 

Re-enter  Face. 

What's  that? 

Face,  Oh,  sir,  we  are  defeated  !     All  the  works 
Are  flown  infumo,  every  glass  is  burst : 
Furnace  and  all  rent  down  ;  as  if  a  bolt 
Of  thunder  had  been  driven  through  the  house. 
Retorts,  receivers,  pelicans,  bolt-heads, 
All  struck  in  shivers  !         [Subtle y«//f  down  as  in  a  swoon. 

Help,  good  sir  !     Alas, 
Coldness  and  death  invades  him.     Nay,  Sir  Mammon, 
Do  the  fair  offices  of  a  man  !     You  stand  100 

As  you  were  readier  to  depart  than  he.       [^Knocking  within. 
Who's  there?     My  lord  her  brother  is  come. 

Mam.  Ha,  Lungs  ! 

Face.  His  coach  is  at  the  door.     Avoid  his  sight, 
For  he's  as  furious  as  his  sister's  mad. 

Mam.  Alas  ! 

Face.  My  brain  is  quite  undone  with  fume,  sir, 
I  ne'er  must  hope  to  be  mine  own  man  again. 

Mam.  Is  all  lost,  Lungs?    Will  nothing  be  preserved 
Of  all  our  cost?  no 

Face.  Faith,  very  little,  sir ; 
A  peck  of  coals  or  so,  which  is  cold  comfort,  sir. 

Mam.  Oh,  my  voluptuous  mind  !     I  am  justly  punished. 

Face.  And  so  am  I,  sir. 

Mam.  Cast  forth  from  all  my  hopes 

Face.  Nay,  certainties,  sir. 

Mam.  By  mine  own  base  affections. 

Sub.  (seeming  to  come  to  himself) .  Oh,  the  curst  fruits  of 
vice  and  lust ! 


0 


224  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

Mam.  Good  father, 
It  was  my  sin.     Forgive  it.  120 

Sub.  Hangs  my  roof 
Over  us  still,  and  will  not  fall,  O  justice. 
Upon  us,  for  this  wicked  man  ! 

Face.  Nay,  look,  sir. 
You  grieve  him  now  with  staying  in  his  sight ; 
Good  sir,  the  nobleman  will  come  too,  and  take  you. 
And  that  may  breed  a  tragedy. 

Mam.  I'll  go. 

Face.  Ay,  and  repent  at  home,  sir.     It  may  be. 
For  some  good  penance  you  may  have  it  yet ;  130 

A  hundred  pound  to  the  box  at  Bethlem 

Mam.  Yes. 

Face.  For  the  restoring  such  as  have  their  wits. 

Mam.  I'll  do't. 

Face.  I'll  send  one  to  you  to  receive  it. 

Mam.  Do. 
Is  no  projection  left? 

Face.  All  flown,  or  stinks,  sir. 

Mam.  Will  nought  be  saved  that's  good  for  med'cine, 
think'st  thou? 

Face.  I  cannot  tell,  sir.     There  will  be  perhaps  140 

Something  about  the  scraping  of  the  shards 
Will  cure  the  itch — {aside)  though  not  your  itch  of  mind, 

sir. 
It  shall  be  saved  for  you,  and  sent  home.     Good  sir, 
This  way  for  fear  the  lord  should  meet  you. 

\_Fxit  Mammon. 

Sub.  {raising  his  head) .  Face! 

Face.  Ay. 

Sub.  Is  he  gone  ? 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  225 

Face.  Yes,  and  as  heavily 
As  all  the  gold  he  hoped  for  were  in's  blood. 
Let  us  be  light,  though.  150 

Sub.  {leaping  up) .  Ay,  as  balls,  and  bound 
And  hit  our  heads  against  the  roof  for  joy : 
There's  so  much  of  our  care  now  cast  away. 

Face.  Now  to  our  Don. 

Sub.  Yes,  your  young  widow  by  this  time 
Is  made  a  countess.  Face. 

Face.  Good,  sir. 

Sub.  Off  with  your  case. 
And  greet  her  kindly,  as  a  bridegroom  should, 
After  these  common  hazards.  160 

Face.  Very  well,  sir. 
Will  you  go  fetch  Don  Diego  off,  the  while  ? 

Sub.  And  fetch  him  over  too,  if  you'll  be  pleased,  sir : 
Would  Dol  were  in  her  place,  to  pick  his  pockets  now  ! 

Face.  Why,  you  can  do't  as  well,  if  you  would  set  to't. 
I  pray  you  prove  your  virtue. 

Sub,  For  your  sake,  sir.  \Exeunt 


Scene  IV.  —  Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Surly  and  Dame  Pliant. 

Sur.  Lady,  you  see  into  what  hands  you  are  fallen ; 
'Mongst  what  a  nest  of  villains  !  and  how  near 
Your  honour  was  to  have  catch ed  a  certain  flaw, 
Through  your  credulity,  had  I  but  been 
So  punctually  forward,  as  place,  time, 
And  other  circumstances  would  have  made  a  man  ; 
For  you're  a  handsome  woman  :  would  you  were  wise  too  ! 


Hf 


226  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

I  am  a  gentleman  come  here  disguised, 

Only  to  find  the  knaveries  of  this  citadel ; 

And  where  I  might  have  wronged  your  honour,  and  have  not, 

I  claim  some  interest  in  your  love.     You  are,  n 

They  say,  a  widow,  rich ;  and  I'm  a  bachelor. 

Worth  nought :  your  fortunes  may  make  me  a  man. 

As  mine  have  preserved  you  a  woman.     Think  upon  it, 

And  whether  I  have  deserved  you  or  no. 

Dame  P.  I  will,  sir. 

Sur.  And  for  these  household  rogues,  let  me  alone 
To  treat  with  them. 

Enter  Subtle. 

Sub.  How  doth  my  noble  Diego, 
And  my  dear  Madam  Countess?     Hath  the  Count  20 

Been  courteous,  lady?  liberal  and  open? 
Donzel,  methinks  you  look  melancholic 
After  your  interview,  and  scurvy  :  truly 
I  do  not  like  the  dulness  of  your  eye  ; 
It  hath  a  heavy  cast,  'tis  upsee  Dutch,^ 
And  says  you  are  a  lumpish  cavalier. 
Be  lighter,  I  will  make  your  pockets  so. 

[Attempts  to  pick  them. 

Sur.  {^throws  open  his  cloak).  Will  you,  Don  Bawd  and 
Pick-purse?    {Strikes  him  down.)     How  now  !    Reel 
you? 
Stand  up,  sir ;  you  shall  find,  since  I  am  so  heavy, 
I'll  give  you  equal  weight.  30 

Sub.  Help  !  murder  ! 

Sur.  No,  sir, 

1  From  the  Dutch  opzee,  over  sea.    A  thick  Dutch  beer  was  much  drunk 
in  England. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  227 

There's  no  such  thing  intended  :  a  good  cart 
And  a  clean  whip  shall  ease  you  of  that  fear. 
I  am  the  Spanish  Don  that  should  be  cozetCd — 
Do  you  see,  cozen' d  /     Where's  your  Captain  Face, 
That  parcel  broker,  and  whole-bawd,  all  rascal ! 

Enter  Face  in  his  uniform. 

Face.  How,  Surly  ! 

Sur.  Oh,  make  your  approach,  good  captain. 
I  have  found  from  whence  your  copper  rings  and  spoons    40 
Come,  now,  wherewith  you  cheat  abroad  in  taverns. 
'Twas  here  you  learned  t'  anoint  your  boot  with  brimstone. 
Then  rub  men's  gold  on't  for  a  kind  of  touch. 
And  say  'twas  nought,  when  you  had  changed  the  colour, 
That  you  might  have  't  for  nothing.     And  this  doctor, 
Your  sooty,  smoky-bearded  compeer,  he 
Will  close  you  so  much  gold,  in  a  bolt's-head, 
And,  on  a  turn,  convey  in  the  stead  another 
With  sublimed  mercury,  that  shall  burst  in  the  heat. 
And  fly  out  all  infumo!    Then  weeps  Mammon ;  50. 

T|ien  swoons  his  worship.     (Face  slips  out.)     Or,  he  is  the 

Faustus 
That  casteth  figures  and  can  conjure,  cures 
Plagues,  piles,  and  pox,  by  the  ephemerides,^ 
And  holds  intelligence  while  you  send  in  — 
Captain  —  what !  is  he  gone  ? 

[^Seizes  Subtle  as  he  is  retiring. 
Nay,  you  must  tarry. 
Though  he  be  'scaped,  and  answer  by  the  ears,  sir. 

Re-enter  Face  with  Kastril. 
Face.  Why,  now's  the  time,  if  ever  you  will  quarrel 
1  Astronomical  almanacs. 


228  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

Well,  as  they  say,  and  be  a  true-born  child : 
The  doctor  and  your  sister  both  are  abused. 

Kas.  Where  is  he  ?     Which  is  he  ?     He  is  a  slave,  60 

Whate'er  he  is,  and  he  must  answer  me.  —  Are  you 
The  man,  sir,  I  would  know? 

Sur.  I  should  be  loth,  sir, 
To  confess  so  much. 

Kas.  Then  you  lie  in  your  throat. 

Sur.  How  ! 

Face  {to  Kastril).  A  very  errant  rogue,  sir,  and  a  cheater, 
Employed  here  by  another  conjurer. 
That  does  not  love  the  doctor,  and  would  cross  him 
If  he  knew  how.  70 

Sur.  Sir,  you  are  abused. 

Kas.  You  lie ; 
And  'tis  no  matter. 

Face.  Well  said,  sir  !     He  is 
The  impudentest  rascal 

Sur.  You  are  indeed  :  will  you  hear  me,  sir  ? 

Face.  By  no  means  :  bid  him  begone. 

Kas.  Begone,  sir,  quickly.  -• 

Sur,  This  is  strange  !  —  Lady,  do  you  inform  your  brother. 

Face.  There  is  not  such  a  foist  ^  in  all  the  town,  80 

The  doctor  had  him  presently ;  and  finds  yet 
The   Spanish   count  will   come   here.      {Aside)   Bear  'up, 
Subtle. 

Sub.  Yes,  sir,  he  must  appear  within  this  hour. 

Face.  And  yet  this  rogue  would  come  in  a  disguise, 
By  the  temptation  of  another  spirit. 
To  trouble  our  art,  though  he  could  not  hurt  it ! 

Kas.  Ay, 

1  Cheating  rogue. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  229 

I  know  —  Away —  {to  his  sister)  — you  talk  like  a  foolish 
mauther.^ 

Sur.  Sir,  all  is  truth  she  says. 

Face.  Do  not  believe  him,  sir.  90 

He  is  the  lyingest  swabber  !     Come  your  ways,  sir. 

Sur.  You  are  valiant  out  of  company  ! 

Kas.  Yes ;  how  then,  sir. 

Enter  Drugger  with  a  piece  of  damask. 

Face,  Nay,  here's  an  honest  fellow  too,  that  knows  him 
And  all  his  tricks.    {Aside  to  Drug.)  Make  good  what  I  say, 

Abel; 
This  cheater  would  have  cozened  thee  o'  the  widow. 
He  owes  this  honest  Drugger  here,  seven  pound, 
He  has  had  on  him,  in  twopen'orths  of  tobacco. 

Drug.  Yes,  sir. 
And  he  has  damned  himself  three  terms  to  pay  me.  100 

Face.  And  what  does  he  owe  for  lotium  ? 

Drug.  Thirty  shillings,  sir ; 
And  for  six  syringes. 

Sur.  Hydra  of  villainy  ! 

Face.  Nay,  sir ;  you  must  quarrel  him  out  o'  the  house. 

Kas.  I  will : 
—  Sir,  if  you  get  not  out  o'  doors,  you  lie  ! 
And  you  are  a  pimp. 

Sur.  Why,  this  is  madness,  sir, 
Not  valour  in  you  ;  I  must  laugh  at  this.  no 

Kas.  It  is  my  humour ;  you  are  a  pimp  and  a  trig. 
And  an  Amadis  de  Gaul  or  a  Don  Quixote. 

Drug.  Or  a  knight  o'  the  curious  coxcomb,  do  you  see  ? 

1  An  awkward,  rustic  woman ;  the  term  is  still  used  in  Norfolkshire. 


230  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  iv. 

Enter  Ananias. 

Ana.  Peace  to  the  household  ! 

Kas.  I'll  keep  peace  for  no  man. 

Ana.  Casting  of  dollars  is  concluded  lawful. 

Kas.  Is  he  the  constable  ? 

Sub.  Peace,  Ananias. 

Face.  No,  sir. 

Kas.  Then  you  are  an  otter,  a  shad,  a  whit,  a  very  tim.  120 

Sur.  You'll  hear  me,  sir  ? 

Kas.  I  will  not. 

Ana.  What  is  the  motive? 

Sub.  Zeal  in  the  young  gentleman 
Against  his  Spanish  slops. 

Ana.  They  are  profane, 
Lewd,  superstitious,  and  idolatrous  breeches. 

Sur.  New  rascals  ! 

Kas.  Will  you  begone,  sir? 

Ana.  Avoid,  Satan  !  130 

Thou  art  not  of  the  light :  that  ruff  of  pride 
About  thy  neck  betrays  thee ;  and  is  the  same 
With  that  which  the  unclean  birds,  in  seventy-seven,^ 
Were  seen  to  prank  it  with  on  divers  coasts  : 
Thou  look'st  like  Antichrist,  in  that  lewd  hat. 

Sur.  I  must  give  way. 

Kas.     Begone,  sir. 

Sur.  But  I'll  take 
A  course  with  you 

Ana.  Depart,  proud  Spanish  fiend  !  140 

Sur.  Captain  and  Doctor. 

Ana.  Child  of  perdition  ! 

1  Probably  refers  to  depredations  of  Spaniards,  but  in  what  localities  is 
not  clear. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  23 1 

Kas.  Hence,  sir  !  \_Exit  Surly. 

Did  I  not  quarrel  bravely? 

Face.  Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

Kas.  Nay,  and  I  give  my  mind  to't,  I  shall  do't. 

Face.  Oh,  you  must  follow,  sir,  and  threaten  him  tame : 
He'll  turn  again  else. 

Kas.  I'll  re-turn  him  then.  {Exit. 

[Subtle  takes  Ananias  aside. 

Face.  Drugger,  this  rogue  prevented  us  for  thee  :  150 

We  had  determined  that  thou  should'st  have  come 
In  a  Spanish  suit,  and  have  carried  her  so ;  and  he, 
A  brokerly  slave  !  goes,  puts  it  on  himself. 
Hast  brought  the  damask? 

Drug.  Yes,  sir. 

Face.  Thou  must  borrow 
A  Spanish  suit :  hast  thou  no  credit  with  the  players? 

Drug.  Yes,  sir ;  did  you  never  see  me  play  the  fool  ? 

Face.  I  know  not,  Nab  :  —  {aside)  Thou  shalt,  if  I  can 
help  it.  — 
Hieronymo's  ^  old  cloak,  ruff,  and  hat  will  serve  ;  160 

I'll  tell  thee  more  when  thou  bring'st  'em.     {Exit  Drugger. 

Ana.  Sir,  I  know 
The  Spaniard  hates  the  brethren,  and  hath  spies 
Upon  their  actions  :  and  that  this  was  one 
I  make  no  scruple.  —  But  the  holy  synod 
Have  been  in  prayer  and  meditation  for  it ; 
And  'tis  revealed,  no  less  to  them  than  me. 
That  casting  of  money  is  most  lawful. 

Sub.  True, 
But  here  I  cannot  do  it ;  if  the  house  170 

1  Chief  character  in  Thomas  Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy,  a  play  much  ridi- 
culed by  Elizabethan  dramatists. 


232  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  IV. 

Should  chance  to  be  suspected,  all  would  out, 
And  we  be  locked  up  in  the  Tower  for  ever, 
To  make  gold  there  for  the  state,  never  come  out ; 
And  then  are  you  defeated. 

Ana.  I  will  tell 
This  to  the  elders  and  the  weaker  brethren, 
That  the  whole  company  of  the  separation 
May  join  in  humble  prayer  again. 

Sub.  And  fasting. 

Ana.  Yea,  for  some  fitter  place.     The  peace  of  mind    180 
Rest  with  these  walls  !  \_Exit. 

Sub.  Thanks,  courteous  Ananias. 

Face.  What  did  he  come  for? 

Sub.  About  casting  dollars. 
Presently  out  of  hand.     And  so  I  told  him 
A  Spanish  minister  came  here  to  spy 

Against  the  faithful 

•  Face.  I  conceive.     Come,  Subtle, 
Thou  art  so  down  upon  the  least  disaster  ! 
How  wouldst  thou  ha'  done,  if  I  had  not  helped  thee  out?  190 

Sub.  I  thank  thee.  Face,  for  the  angry  boy,  i'  faith. 

Face.  Who  would  have  looked  it  should  have  been  that 
rascal 
Surly?  he  had  dyed  his  beard  and  all.     Well,  sir, 
Here's  damask  come  to  make  you  a  suit. 

Sub.  Where's  Drugger? 

Face.  He  is  gone  to  borrow  me  a  Spanish  habit ; 
I'll  be  the  count,  now. 

Sub.  But  where's  the  widow  ? 

Face.  Within,  with  my  lord's  sister ;  Madam  Dol 
Is  entertaining  her.  200 

Sub.  By  your  favour.  Face, 


SCENE  IV.]  .    THE  ALCHEMIST.  233 

Now  she  is  honest,  I  will  stand  again. 

Face.  You  will  not  offer  it. 

Sub.     Why? 

Face.  Stand  to  your  word, 
Or  —  here  comes  Dol,  she  knows 

Sub.  You  are  tyrannous  still. 

Enter  Dol,  hastily. 

Face.  Strict  for  my  right.  —  How  now,  Dol !    Hast  [thou] 
told  her. 
The  Spanish  Count  will  come  ? 

Dol.  Yes  ;  but  another  is  come  210 

You  little  looked  for  ! 

Face.  Who  is  that? 

Dol.  Your  master ; 
The  master  of  the  house. 

Sub.  How,  Dol ! 

Face.  She  lies, 
This  is  some  trick.     Come,  leave  your  quiblins,^  Dorothy. 

Dol.  Look  out  and  see.  [Face  goes  to  the  window. 

Sub.  Art  thou  in  earnest? 

Dol  'Slight,  220 

Forty  o'  the  neighbours  are  about  him,  talking. 

Face.  'Tis  he,  by  this  good  day. 

Dol.  'Twill  prove  ill  day 
For  some  on  us. 

Face.  We  are  undone,  and  taken. 

Dol.  Lost,  I'm  afraid. 

Sub.  You  said  he  would  not  come 
While  there  died  one  a  week  within  the  liberties. 

Face.  No  :  'twas  within  the  walls. 

1  Petty  duplicities. 


234  THE  ALCHEMIST.     .  [ACT  V. 

Sub.  Was't  so  !  cry  you  mercy.  230 

I  thought  the  liberties.     What  shall  we  do  now,  Face  ? 

Face.  Be  silent :  not  a  word,  if  he  call  or  knock, 
I'll  into  mine  own  shape  again  and  meet  him. 
Of  Jeremy,  the  butler.     In  the  meantime, 
Do  you  two  pack  up  all  the  goods  and  purchase  ^ 
That  we  can  carry  in  the  two  trunks.     I'll  keep  him 
Off  for  to-day,  if  I  cannot  longer  :  and  then 
At  night  I'll  ship  you  both  away  to  Ratcliff, 
Where  we  will  meet  to-morrow,  and  there  we'll  share. 
Let  Mammon's  brass  and  pewter  keep  the  cellar ;  240 

We'll  have  another  time  for  that.     But,  Dol, 
Prythee  go  heat  a  little  water  quickly ; 
Subtle  must  shave  me  :  all  my  captain's  beard 
Must  off,  to  make  me  appear  smooth  Jeremy. 
You'll  do  it? 

Sub.  Yes,  I'll  shave  you,  as  well  as  I  can. 

Face.  And  not  cut  my  throat,  but  trim  me? 

Sub.  You  shall  see,  sir.^  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  — Before  Lovewit's  Door. 

Enter  Lovewit,  with  several  of  the  Neighbours. 

Love.  Has  there  been  much  resort,  say  you  ? 
1st  Net.  Daily,  sir. 

1  Cant  word  for  stolen  goods.  Cf.  Henry  V,  iii,  2 :  "  They  will  steal  any- 
thing and  call  it  —  purchase." 

2  "  I  do  not  believe  that  any  scene  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  English 
Drama  is  worked  up  with  so  much  comic  skill  and  knowledge  of  effect  as 
the  conclusion  of  this  masterly  act." —  Gifford. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  235 

2d  Net.  And  nightly,  too. 

jd  Net.  Ay,  some  as  brave  as  lords. 

4th  Net.  Ladies  and  gentlewomen. 

jth  Net.  Citizens'  wives. 

ist  Nei.  And  knights. 

6th  Nei,  In  coaches. 

2d  Nei.  Yes,  and  oyster  women. 

ist  Nei.  Beside  other  gallants.  10 

3d  Nei.  Sailors'  wives. 

4th  Nei.  Tobacco  men. 

5th  Nei.  Another  Pimlico  ^ ! 

Love.  What  should  my  knave  advance. 
To  draw  this  company?     He  hung  out  no  banners 
Of  a  strange  calf  with  five  legs  to  be  seen, 
Or  a  huge  lobster  with  six  claws  ? 

6th  Nei.  No,  sir. 

3d  Nei.  We  had  gone  in  then,  sir. 

Love.  He  has  no  gift  20 

Of  teaching  in  the  nose  that  e'er  I  knew  of. 
You  saw  no  bills  set  up  that  promised  cure 
Of  agues,  or  the  tooth-ache  ? 

2d  Nei.  No  such  thing,  sir. 

Love.  Nor  heard  a  drum  struck  for  baboons  or  puppets  ? 

§th  Nei.  Neither,  sir. 

Love.  What  device  should  he  bring  forth  now? 
I  love  a  teeming  wit  as  I  love  my  nourishment ; 
'Pray  God  he  have  not  kept  such  open  house 
That  he  hath  sold  my  hangings  and  my  bedding  !  30 

I  left  him  nothing  else.     If  he  have  eat  them, 
A  plague  o'  the  moth,  say  I  !     Sure  he  has  got 
Some  tempting  pictures  to  call  all  this  ging  ^ ! 

1  A  resort  near  Hogsden,  noted  for  its  cakes  and  ale.  2  Gang. 


236  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  V. 

Or't  may  be  he  has  the  fleas  that  run  at  tilt 
Upon  a  table,  or  some  dog  to  dance. 
When  saw  you  him? 

1st  Nei.  Who,  sir,  Jeremy  ? 

2d  Net.  Jeremy  Butler? 
We  saw  him  not  this  month. 

Love.  How  !  40 

4th  Net.  Not  these  five  weeks,  sir. 

6th  Nei.  These  six  weeks  at  the  least. 

Love.  You  amaze  me,  neighbours  ! 

jth  Nei.  Sure,  if  your  worship  know  not  where  he  is, 
He's  sHpped  away. 

6th  Nei.  Pray  God,  he  be  not  made  away. 

Love.  Ha  !  it's  no  time  to  question,  then. 

[Knocks  at  the  door. 

6th  Nei.  About 
Some  three  weeks  since,  I  heard  a  doleful  cry, 
As  I  sat  up  a-mending  my  wife's  stockings.  50 

Love.  'Tis  strange  that  none  will  answer  !    Didst  thou  hear 
A  cry,  say'st  thou? 

6th  Nei.  Yes,  sir,  like  unto  a  man 
That  had  been  strangled  an  hour,  and  could  not  speak. 

2d  Nei.  I  heard  it  too,  just  this  day  three  weeks,  at  two 
o'clock 
Next  morning. 

Love.  These  be  miracles,  or  you  make  them  so. 
A  man  an  hour  strangled,  and  could  not  speak. 
And  both  you  heard  him  cry? 

3d  Nei.  Yes,  downward,  sir.  60 

Love.  Thou  art  a  wase  fellow.     Give  me  thy  hand,  I  pray 
thee. 
What  trade  art  thou  on? 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  237 

3d  Nei.  A  smith,  an't  please  your  worship. 

Love.  A  smith  !  then  lend  me  thy  help  to  get  this  door 

open. 
Sd  Net.  That  I  will  presently,  sir,  but  fetch  my  tools. 

\_Exit. 
1st  Net.  Sir,  best  to  knock  again,  afore  you  break  it. 
Love,  {^knocks  again).  I  will. 

Enter  Face,  in  his  butler's  livery. 

Face.  What  mean  you,  sir  ? 

1st,  2d,  4th  Nei.  Oh,  here's  Jeremy  ! 

Face.  Good  sir,  come  from  the  door.  70 

Love.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Face.  Yet  farther,  you  are  too  near  yet. 

Love.  In  the  name  of  wonder. 
What  means  the  fellow  ! 

Face.  The  house,  sir,  has  been  visited. 

Love.  What,  with  the  plague  ?  stand  thou  then  farther. 

Face.  No,  sir, 
I  had  it  not. 

Love.  Who  had  it  then  ?     I  left 
None  else  but  thee  in  the  house.  80 

Face.  Yes,  sir,  my  fellow. 
The  cat  that  kept  the  buttery,  had  it  on  her 
A  week  before  I  spied  it ;  but  I  got  her 
Conveyed  away  in  the  night :  and  so  I  shut 
The  house  up  for  a  month 

Love.  How  ! 

Face.  Purposing  then,  sir, 
To  have  burnt  rose-vinegar,  treacle,  and  tar, 
And  have  made  it  sweet,  that  you  should  ne'er  have  known  it ; 
Because  I  knew  the  news  would  but  afflict  you,  sir.  90 


238  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  v. 

Love.  Breathe  less,  and  farther  off !     Why  this  is  stranger  : 
The  neighbours  tell  me  all  here  that  the  doors 
Have  still  been  open 

Face.  How,  sir  ! 

Love.  Gallants,  men  and  women. 
And  of  all  sorts,  tag-rag,  been  seen  to  flock  here 
In  threaves,^  these  ten  weeks,  as  to  a  second  Hogsden, 
In  days  of  Pimlico  and  Eyebright.^ 

Face.  Sir, 
Their  wisdoms  will  not  say  so.  100 

Love.  To-day  they  speak 
Of  coaches  and  gallants ;  one  in  a  French  hood 
Went  in,  they  tell  me ;  and  another  was  seen 
In  a  velvet  gown  at  the  window  :  divers  more 
Pass  in  and  out. 

Face.  They  did  pass  through  the  doors  then. 
Or  walls,  I  assure  their  eyesights,  and  their  spectacles ; 
For  here,  sir,  are  the  keys,  and  here  have  been. 
In  this  my  pocket,  now  above  twenty  days  : 
And  for  before,  I  kept  the  fort  alone  there.  no 

But  that  'tis  yet  not  deep  in  the  afternoon, 
I  should  believe  my  neighbours  had  seen  double 
Through  the  black  pot,  and  made  these  apparitions  ! 
For,  on  my  faith  to  your  worship,  for  these  three  weeks 
And  upwards  the  door  has  not  been  opened. 

Love.  Strange  ! 

1st  Net.  Good  faith,  I  think  I  saw  a  coach. 


1  Droves ;  so  Jonson  in  The  Sad  Shepherd:  "  They  come  in  threaves,  to 
frolic  with  him  "  ;  so  also  Chapman,  Genf.  Usher,  Act  ii,  i.  But  Skeat  says 
that  the  word  means  "  a  number  of  sheaves  of  wheat,  generally  twelve  or 
twenty-four." 

2  Perhaps  a  cant  term  for  a  kind  of  malt  liquor  then  popular. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  239 

2d  Nei,  And  I  too, 
I'd  have  been  sworn. 

Love.  Do  you  but  think  it  now  ?  120 

And  but  one  coach  ? 

4th  Nei.  We  cannot  tell,  sir  :  Jeremy 
Is  a  very  honest  fellow. 

Face.  Did  you  see  me  at  all? 

1st  Nei.  No ;  that  we  are  sure  on. 

2d  Nei.  I'll  be  sworn  o'  that. 

Love.  Fine  rogues  to  have  your  testimonies  built  on  ! 

Re-enter  Third  Neighbour,  with  his  Tools. 

jd  Nei.  Is  Jeremy  come  ? 

1st  Nei.  Oh,  yes;  you  may  leave  your  tools.  > 

We  were  deceived,  he  says.  130 

2d  Nei.  He  has  had  the  keys  ; 
And  the  door  has  been  shut  these  three  weeks. 

jd  Nei.  Like  enough. 

Love.  Peace  and  get  hence,  you  changelings. 

Enter  Surly  and  Mammon. 

Face  (aside) .  Surly  come  ! 
And  Mammon  made  acquainted  !     They'll  tell  all. 
How  shall  I  beat  them  off?  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Nothing's  more  wretched  than  a  guilty  conscience.^ 

Sur.  No,  sir,  he  was  a  great  physician.     This, 
It  was  no  evil  house,  but  a  mere  chancel !  140 

You  knew  the  lord  and  his  sister. 

Mam.  Nay,  good  Surly 


Sur.  The  happy  word,  Be  rich 

Mam.  Play  not  the  tyrant 

1  Quoted  from  Plautus. 


240  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  v. 

Sur.  Should  be  to-day  pronounced  to  all  your  friends. 
And  where  be  your  andirons  now?  and  your  brass  pots, 
That  should  have  been  golden  flagons,  and  great  wedges? 

Mam.  Let  me  but  breathe.     What,  they  have  shut  their 
doors, 
Methinks  ! 

Sur.  Ay,  now  'tis  holiday  with  them. 

Mam.  Rogues,  [He  and  Surly  knock.     150 

Cozeners,  rascals,  cheats  ! 

Face.  What  mean  you,  sir  ! 

Mam.  To  enter  if  we  can. 

Face.  Another  man's  house  ! 
Here  is  the  owner,  sir ;  turn  you  to  him, 
.And  speak  your  business. 

Mam.  Are  you,  sir,  the  owner? 

Love.  Yes,  sir. 

Mam.  And  are  those  knaves  within,  your  cheaters  ! 

Love.  What  knaves,  what  cheaters  ?  160 

Mam.  Subtle  and  his  Lungs. 

Face.  The  gentleman  is  distracted,  sir  !  No  lungs. 
Nor  lights  have  been  seen  here  these  three  weeks,  sir, 
Within  these  doors,  upon  my  word. 

Sur.  Your  word. 
Groom  arrogant ! 

Face.  Yes,  sir,  I  am  the  housekeeper. 
And  know  the  keys  have  not  been  out  of  my  hands. 

Sur.  This  is  a  new  Face. 

Face.  You  do  mistake  the  house,  sir :  i;o 

What  sign  was't  at?  -^ 

Sur.  You  rascal !    this  is  one 
Of  the  confederacy.     Come,  let's  get  officers, 
And  force  the  door. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  241 

Love.  Pray  you,  stay,  gentlemen. 

Sur.  No,  sir,  we'll  come  with  warrant. 

Mam.  Ay,  and  then 
We  shall  have  your  doors  open.        \_Exeunt  Mam.  and  Sur. 

Love.  What  means  this? 

Face.  I  cannot  tell,  sir.  180 

1st  Net.  These  are  two  of  the  gallants 
That  we  do  think  we  saw. 

Face.  Two  of  the  fools  ! 
You  talk  as  idly  as  they.     Good  faith,  sir, 
I  think  the  moon  has  crazed  'em  all.^     Oh,  me  ! 

Enter  Kastril. 

{Aside)  The  angry  boy  come  too  !    He'll  make  a  noise, 
And  ne'er  away  till  he  have  betrayed  us  all. 

Kas.  {knocking) .  What  rogues,  cheats,  slaves,  you'll  open 
the  door  anon  ! 
What,  cockatrice,  my  suster  !     But  this  light 
I'll  fetch  the  marshal  to  you.     You  are  a  toad  190 

To  keep  your  castle 

Face.  Who  would  you  speak  with,  sir? 

Kas.  The  dirty  doctor  and  the  cozening  captain. 
And  puss  my  suster. 

Love.  This  is  something,  sure. 

Face.  Upon  my  trust,  the  doors  were  never  open,  sir. 

Kas.  I  have  heard  all  their  tricks  told  me  twice  ovei, 
By  the  fat  knight  and  the  lean  gentleman. 

Love.  Here  comes  another. 

Enter  Ananias  and  Tribulation. 

Face.  Ananias  too  !  200 

1  A  very  ancient  and  wide-spread  superstition,  the  origin  of  the  word 
lunatic. 


242  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  v. 

And  his  pastor ! 

Tri.  {beating  at  the  door) .  The  doors  are  shut  against  us. 

Ana.  Come  forth,  you  seed  of  sulphur,  sons  of  fire  ! 
Your  stench  it  is  broke  forth ;  abomination 
Is  in  the  house. 

Kas.  Ay,  my  suster's  there. 

Ana.  The  place, 
It  is  become  a  cage  of  unclean  birds. 

Kas.  Yes,  I  will  fetch  the  scavenger  and  the  constable. 

Tri.  You  shall  do  well.  210 

Ana.  We'll  join  to  weed  them  out. 

Kas.  You  will  not  come,  then,  cockatrice,^  my  suster  ! 

Ana.  Call  her  not  sister ;  she's  a  harlot,  verily. 

Kas.  I'll  raise  the  street. 

Love.  Good  gentleman,  a  word. 

Ana.  Satan  avoid,  and  hinder  not  our  zeal ! 

\_Exeunt  Ana.,  Trie.,  and  Kas. 

Love.  The  world's  turned  Bethlem. 

Face.  These  are  all  broke  loose. 
Out  of  St.  Katherine's,  where  they  use  to  keep 
The  better  sort  of  mad-folks.  220 

1st  Nei.  All  these  persons 
We  saw  go  in  and  out  here. 

2d  Nei.  Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

3d  Nei.  These  were  the  parties. 

Face.  Peace,  you  drunkards  !     Sir, 
I  wonder  at  it :  please  you  to  give  me  leave 
To  touch  the  door,  I'll  try  an  the  lock  be  changed. 

Love.  It  mazes  me  ! 

1  A  fabulous  serpent,  said  to  come  from  a  cock's  egg,  and  to  have  wings, 
legs,  and  crest  like  a  cock.  It  was  deemed  so  venomous  as  to  be  able  to 
kill  with  its  look.    Same  as  the  basilisk. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  243 

Face  {goes  to  the  door).  Good  faith,  sir,  I  believe 
There's  no  such  thing  :  'tis  all  deceptio  visus —  230 

(Aside)   Would  I  could  get  him  away. 

Dap.  {within) .  Master  Captain  !     Master  Doctor  ! 

Love.  Who's  that? 

Face  {aside).  Our  clerk  within,  that  I  forgot! — I  know 
not,  sir. 

Dap.  {within).  For  God's  sake,  when  will  her  grace  be 
at  leisure  ? 

Face.  Ha! 
Illusions,  some  spirit  o'  the  air  !     {Aside)   His  gag  is  melted, 
And  now  he  sets  out  the  throat. 

Dap.  {within) .  I  am  almost  stifled ^ 

Face  {aside) .  Would  you  were  altogether.  240 

Love.  'Tis  in  the  house. 
Ha!  list. 

Face.  Believe  it,  sir,  in  the  air. 

Love.  Peace,  you. 

Dap.  {within).  Mine  aunt's  grace  does  not  use  me  well. 

Stib.  {within).  You  fool, 
Peace,  you'll  mar  all. 

Face  {speaks  through  the  key-hole^  white  Lovewit  ad- 
vances iniobserved  to  the  door) .  Or  you  will  else,  you 
rogue. 

Love.  Oh,  is  it  so  ?     Then  you  converse  with  spirits  ! 
Come,  sir.     No  more  of  your  tricks,  good  Jeremy, 
The  truth,  the  shortest  way.  250 

Face.  Dismiss  this  rabble,  sir,  — 

{Aside)  What  shall  I  do  ?     I  am  catched. 

Love.  Good  neighbours, 
I  thank  you  all.    You  may  depart.     {Ex.  Neigh.)    Come,  sir, 
You  know  that  I  am  an  indulgent  master, 


244  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  v. 

And  therefore  conceal  nothing.     What's  your  medicine, 
To  draw  so  many  several  sorts  of  wild- fowl  ? 

Face.  Sir,  you  were  wont  to  affect  mirth  and  wit. 
But  here's  no  place  to  talk  on't  in  the  street. 
Give  me  but  leave  to  make  the  best  of  my  fortune,  260 

And  only  pardon  me  the  abuse  of  your  house  : 
It's  all  I  beg.     I'll  help  you  to  a  widow, 
In  recompense,  that  you  shall  give  me  thanks  for, 
Will  make  you  seven  years  younger,  and  a  rich  one. 
'Tis  but  your  putting  on  a  Spanish  cloak : 
I  have  her  within.     You  need  not  fear  the  house ; 
It  was  not  visited. 

Love.  But  by  me,  who  came 
Sooner  than  you  expected. 

Face.  It  is  true,  sir.  «  270 

Pray  you,  forgive  me. 

Love,  Well,  let's  see  your  widow.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  II.  — A  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Subtle,  leading  in  Dapper  with  his  eyes  bound  as  before. 

Sub.  How  !  have  you  eaten  your  gag  ? 

Dap.  Yes,  faith,  it  crumbled 
Away  in  my  mouth. 

Sub.  You  have  spoiled  all,  then. 

Dap.  No  ! 
I  hope  my  aunt  of  Fairy  will  forgive  me. 

Sub.  Your  aunt's  a  gracious  lady ;  but  in  troth 
You  were  to  blame. 

Dap.  The  fume  did  overcome  me. 
And  I  did  do't  to  stay  my  stomach.     Pray  you  10 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  245 

So  satisfy  her  grace. 

Enter  Face  in  his  uniform. 

Here  comes  the  Captain. 

Face.  How  now  !     Is  his  mouth  down  ? 

Sub.  Ay,  he  has  spoken  ! 

Face.  A  plague,  I  heard  him,  and  you  too.     He's  undone 
then. 
I  have  been  fain  to  say  the  house  is  haunted 
With  spirits,  to  keep  churl  back. 

Sub.  And  hast  thou  done  it? 

Face.  Sure,  for  this  night. 

Sub.  Why,  then  triumph  and  sing  20 

Of  Face  so  famous,  the  precious  king 
Of  present  wits. 

Face.  Did  you  not  hear  the  coil 
About  the  door? 

Sub.  Yes,  and  I  dwindled  with  it. 

Face.  Show  him  his  aunt,  and  let  him  be  dispatched  ; 
I'll  send  her  to  you.  \_Exit  Face. 

Sub.  Well,  sir,  your  aunt  her  grace 
Will  give  you  audience  presently,  on  my  suit, 
And  the  captain's  word  that  you  did  not  eat  your  gag  30 

In  any  contempt  of  her  highness.  \_Unbinds  his  eyes. 

Dap.  Not  I,  in  troth,  sir. 

Enter  Dol,  like  the  Queen  of  Fairy. 

Sub.  Here  she  is  come.     Down  o'  your  knees  and  wriggle  : 
She  has  a  stately  presence.      (Dapper  kneels,  and  shuffles 

toward^  her.)     Good  !     Yet  nearer, 
And  bid,  God  save  you  ! 

Dap.  Madam  ! 

Sub.  And  your  aunt. 


246  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  V. 

Dap.  And  my  most  gracious  aunt,  God  save  your  grace. 

DoL  Nephew,  we  thought  to  have  been  angry  with  you ; 
But  that  sweet  face  of  yours  hath  turned  the  tide,  40 

And  made  it  flow  with  joy,  that  ebb'd  of  love. 
Arise,  and  touch  our  velvet  gown. 

Sub.  The  skirts. 
And  kiss  'em.     So  ! 

Dol.  Let  me  now  stroke  that  head. 
Much,  nephew,  shalt  thou  win,  much  shalt  thou  spend, 
Much  shalt  thou  give  away,  much  shalt  thou  lend. 

Sub.  {aside).  Ay,  much  indeed  !     Why  do  you  not  thank 
her  grace  ? 

Dap.  I  cannot  speak  for  joy. 

Sub.  See  the  kind  wretch  !  50 

Your  grace's  kinsman  right. 

Dol.  Give  me  the  bird. 
Here  is  your  fly  in  a  purse,  about  your  neck,  cousin ; 
Wear  it,  and  feed  it  about  this  day  seven-night, 
On  your  right  wrist 

Sub.  Open  a  vein  with  a  pin. 
And  let  it  suck  but  once  a  week ;  till  then 
You  must  not  look  on't. 

Dol.  No  :  and,  kinsman. 
Bear  yourself  worthy  of  the  blood  you  come  on.  60 

Sub.  Her  grace  would  have  you  eat  no  more  Woolsack  pies, 
Nor  Dagger  frumety.^ 

Dol.  Nor  break  his  fast 
In  Heaven  and  Hell.' 

1  Frumety  was  food  made  of  wheat  boiled  in  milk.    The  Woolsack  and 
Dagger  were  two  taverns  of  low  repute, 

2  Two  mean  alehouses  abutting  on  Westminster  Hall.    There  was  a 
third  called  Purgatory. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST,  247 

Sub.  She's  with  you  everywhere  ! 
Nor  play  with  costomongers  at  mum-chance,^  trey-trip,^ 
God-make-you-rich^  (when  as  your  aunt  has  done  it)  ; 
But  keep 
The  gallant'st  company  and  the  best  games 

Dap.  Yes,  sir.  70 

Sub.  Gleek  and  primero  :  and  what  you  get,  be  true  to  us. 

Dap.     By  this  hand,  I  will. 

Sub.  You  may  bring's  a  thousand  pound 
Before  to-morrow  night,  if  but  three  thousand 
Be  stirring,  an  you  will. 

Dap.  I  swear  I  will,  then. 

Sub.  Your  fly  will  learn  you  all  games. 

Face  {within).     Have  you  done  there? 

Sub.  Your  grace  will  command  him  no  more  duties  ? 

Dol.  No  !  80 

But  come  and  see  me  often.     I  may  chance 
To  leave  him  three  or  four  hundred  chests  of  treasure, 
And  some  twelve  thousand  acres  of  Fairyland, 
If  he  game  well  and  comely  with  good  gamesters. 

Sub.  There's  a  kind  aunt !     Kiss  her  departing  part. 
But  you  must  sell  your  forty  mark  a-year,  now. 

Dap.  Ay,  sir,  I  mean. 

Sub.  Or  give't  away ;  plague  on't ! 

Dap.  I'll  give't  mine  aunt :  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  writings. 

l^Exit. 

Sub.  'Tis  well  —  away  !  90 

'Re-enter  Face. 
Face.  Where's  Subtle  ? 

1  A  rude  game  with  dice. 

2  A  game  with  draughts,  to  win  which  a  trey  must  be  thrown. 
8  A  game. 


248  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  V. 

Sub.  Here  :  what  news  ? 

Pace.  Drugger  is  at  the  door ;  go  take  his  suit, 
And  bid  him  fetch  a  parson,  presently  : 
Say  he  shall  marry  the  widow.     Thou  shalt  spend 
A  hundred  pound  by  the  service  !  i^Ex.  Sub.)     Now,  Queen 

Dol, 
Have  you  packed  up  all  ? 

Dol.  Yes. 

Face.  And  how  do  you  like 
The  Lady  PHant?  100 

Dol.  A  good  dull  innocent. 

Re-enter  Subtle. 

Sub.  Here's  your  Hieronymo's  cloak  and  hat. 

Face.  Give  me  them. 

Sub.  And  the  ruff  too  ? 

Face.  Yes  ;  I'll  come  to  you  presently.  \^Exit. 

Sub.  Now  he  is  gone  about  his  project,  Dol, 
I  told  you  of,  for  the  widow. 

Dol.  'Tis  direct 
Against  our  articles. 

Sub.  Well,  we  will  fit  him,  wench.  no 

Hast  thou  gulled  her  of  her  jewels  or  her  bracelets? 

DoL  No  ;  but  I  will  do't. 

Sub.  Soon  at  night,  my  Dolly, 
When  we  are  shipped,  and  all  our  goods  aboard, 
Eastward  for  Ratcliff ;  we  will  turn  our  course 
To  Brainford,  westward,  if  thou  say'st  the  word. 
And  take  our  leaves  of  this  o'er-weening  rascal. 
This  peremptory  Face. 

Dol.  Content,  I'm  weary  of  him. 

Sub.  Thou'st  cause,  when  the  slave  will  run  a-wiving,  Dol, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  249 

Against  the  instrument  that  was  drawn  between  us.  121 

DoL  I'll  pluck  his  bird  as  bare  as  I  can. 

Sub.  Yes,  tell  her 
She  must  by  any  means  address  some  present 
To  the  cunning  man,  make  him  amends  for  wronging 
His  art  with  her  suspicion  ;  send  a  ring 
Or  chain  of  pearl ;  she  will  be  tortured  else 
Extremely  in  her  sleep,  say,  and  have  strange  things 
Come  to  her.     Wilt  thou  ? 

Dol.  Yes.  130 

Sub.  My  fine  flitter-mouse,^ 
My  bird  o'  the  night !  we'll  revel  at  the  Pigeons,^ 
When  we  have  all,  and  may  unlock  the  trunks. 
And  say,  this  is  mine,  and  thine ;  and  thine,  and  mine. 

\_They  kiss. 
Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  What  now  !  a-billing  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  a  little  exalted 
In  the  good  passage  of  our  stock-affairs. 

Face.  Drugger   has   brought   his   parson;    take   him   in. 
Subtle, 
And  send  Nab  back  again  to  wash  his  face. 

Sub.  I  will :  and  shave  himself.  \_Exit.     140 

Face.  If  you  can  get  him. 

Dol.  You  are  hot  upon  it,  Face,  whate'er  it  is  ! 

Face.  A  trick  that  Dol  shall  spend  ten  pound  a  month  by. 

Re-enter  Subtle. 
Is  he  gone  ? 

Sub.  The  chaplain  waits  you  in  the  hall,  sir. 

1  Bat ;  German  fiedertnaus. 

2  The  Three  Pigeons  :  an  inn  at  Brentford ;  afterwards  kept  by  the  noted 
actor  Lowin,  when  the  Puritans  shut  up  the  theatres. 


250  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  v. 

Face.  I'll  go  bestow  him.  \ExiL 

Dol.  He'll  now  marry  her,  instantly. 

Sub.  He  cannot  )^et,  he  is  not  ready.     Dear  Dol, 
Cozen  her  of  all  thou  canst.     To  deceive  him 
Is  no  deceit,  but  justice,  that  would  break  150 

Such  an  inextricable  tie  as  ours  was. 

Dol.  Let  me  alone  to  fit  him. 

Re-enter  Face. 

Face.  Come,  my  venturers. 
You  have  packed  up  all  ?  Where  be  the  trunks  ?  Bring  forth. 

Sub.  Here. 

Face.  Let  us  see  them.     Where's  the  money? 

Sub.  Here, 
In  this. 

Face.  Mammon's  ten  pound  ;  eight  score  before  ; 
The  brethren's  money  this.     Drugger's  and  Dapper's.       160 
What  paper's  that? 

Dol.  The  jewel  of  the  waiting-maid's. 
That  stole  it  from  her  lady,  to  know  certain 

Face.  If  she  should  have  precedence  of  her  mistress  ? 

Dol.  Yes. 

Face.  What  box  is  that? 

Sub.  The  fish-wives'  rings,  I  think, 
And  the  ale-wives'  single  money.^     Is't  not,  Dol? 

Dol.  Yes  ;  and  the  whistle  that  the  sailor's  wife 
Brought  you  to  know  an  her  husband  were  with  Ward.^     170 

Face.  We'll  wet  it  to-morrow ;  and  our  silver-beakers 
And  tavern  cups.     Where  be  the  French  petticoats. 
And  girdles  and  hangers  ? 

1  Money  of  small  value,  requiring  no  change. 

2  A  notorious  pirate. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  251 

Sub.  Here,  in  the  trunk, 
And  the  bolts  of  lawn. 

Face.  Is  Drugger's  damask  there, 
And  the  tobacco  ? 

Sub.  Yes. 

Face.  Give  me  the  keys. 

Dol.  Why  you  the  keys?  180 

Sub.  No  matter,  Dol ;  because 
We  shall  not  open  them  before  he  comes. 

Face.  'Tis  true,  you  shall  not  open  them,  indeed ; 
Nor  have  them  forth,  do  you  see  ?  not  forth,  Dol. 

Dol.  No  ! 

Face.  No,  my  smock  rampant.     The  right  is,  my  master 
Knows  all,  has  pardoned  me,  and  he  will  keep  them ; 
Doctor,  'tis  true  —  you  look  —  for  all  your  figures  : 
I  sent  for  him  indeed.^    Wherefore,  good  partners, 
Both  he  and  she  be  satisfied  :  for  here  190 

Determines  the  indenture  tripartite 
'Twixt  Subtle,  Dol,  and  Face.     All  I  can  do 
Is  to  help  you  over  the  wall,  o'  the  back-side. 
Or  lend  you  a  sheet  to  save  your  velvet  gown,  Dol. 
Here  will  be  officers  presently,  bethink  you 
Of  some  course  suddenly  to  'scape  the  dock  ^ : 
For  thither  you  will  come  else.  —  {Loud  knocking.)  —  Hark 
you,  thunder. 

Sub.  You  are  a  precious  fiend  ! 

Off.  {without).  Open  the  door. 

Face.  Dol,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  i'  faith ;  but  hear'st  thou  ? 
It  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  place  thee  somewhere  :  201 

Thou  shalt  have  my  letter  to  Mistress  Amo 

1  A  characteristic  lie. 

■^  An  apartment  in  Newgate,  or  Bridewell,  prison. 


252  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  v. 

Dol.  Hang  you  ! 

Face.  Or  Madam  Caesarean.^ 

Dol.  Out  upon  you,  rogue  ! 
Would  I  had  but  time  to  beat  thee  ! 

Face.  Subtle, 
Let's  know  where  you  set  up  next ;  I  will  send  you 
A  customer  now  and  then,  for  old  acquaintance  : 
What  new  course  have  you?  210 

Sub.  Rogue,  I'll  hang  myself. 
That  I  may  walk  a  greater  devil  than  thou, 
And  haunt  thee  in  the  flock-bed  and  the  buttery.     [^Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  —  An  outer  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Lovewit  in  the  Spanish  dress,  with  the  Parson. 

\_Loud  knocking  at  the  door.~\ 

Love.  What  do  you  mean,  my  masters? 

Mam.  {without).  Open  your  door. 
Cheaters,  thieves,  conjurors. 

Off.  {without).  Or  we  will  break  it  open. 

Love.  What  warrant  have  you? 

Off.  {without) .  Warrant  enough,  sir,  doubt  not, 
If  you'll  not  open  it. 

Love.  Is  there  an  officer,  there  ? 

Off.  {without).  Yes,  two  or  three  for  failing.^ 

Love.  Have  but  patience,  10 

And  I  will  open  it  straight. 

Enter  Face  as  butler. 

Face.  Sir,  have  you  done  ? 

1  The  nicknames  of  two  notorious  women.  2  Yox  fear  of  failing. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  253 

Is  it  a  marriage  ?  perfect  ? 

Love.  Yes,  my  brain. 

Face.  Off  with  your  ruff  and  cloak  then  ;  be  yourself,  sir. 

Sur.  {without) .  Down  with  the  door. 

Kas.  {without) .  'Slight,  ding  ^  it  open. 

Love,  {opening  the  door) .  Hold, 
Hold,  gentleman,  what  means  this  violence  ? 

Mammon,    Surly,    Kastril,    Ananias,     Tribulation,     and 
Officers  rush  in. 

Mam.  Where  is  this  collier?  20 

Sur.  And  my  Captain  Face  ? 

Mam.  These  day  owls. 

Sur.  That  are  birding  ^  in  men's  purses. 

Mam.  Madam  Suppository. 

Kas.  Doxy,  my  suster. 

Ana.  Locusts 
Of  the  foul  pit. 

Tri.  Profane  as  Bel  and  the  Dragon. 

Ana.  Worse  than  the  grasshoppers  or  the  lice  of  Egypt. 

Love.  Good  gentlemen,  hear  me.     Are  you  officers,        30 
And  cannot  stay  this  violence  ? 

1st  Off.  Keep  the  peace. 

Love.  Gentlemen,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Whom  do  you  seek  ? 

Mam.  The  chemical  cozener. 

Sur.  And  the  captain  pander. 

Kas.  The  nun,  my  suster. 

Mam.  Madam  Rabbi 

Ana.  Scorpions 
And  caterpillars. 

Love.  Fewer  at  once,  I  pray  you.  40 

1  Break ;  still  common  in  Scotland.  2  Pilfering. 


254  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [act  v. 

2d  Off.  One  after  another,  gentlemen,  I  charge  you, 
By  virtue  of  my  staff. 

Ana.  They  are  the  vessels 
Of  pride,  lust,  and  the  cart.^ 

Love.  Good  zeal,  lie  still 
A  little  while. 

Tri.  Peace,  Deacon  Ananias. 

Love.  The  house  is  mine  here,  and  the  doors  are  open : 
If  there  be  any  such  persons  as  you  seek  for, 
Use  your  authority,  search  on,  o'  God's  name.  50 

I  am  but  newly  come  to  town,  and  finding 
This  tumult  'bout  my  door,  to  tell  you  true. 
It  somewhat  mazed  me ;  till  my  man  here,  fearing 
My  more  displeasure,  told  me  he  had  done 
Somewhat  an  insolent  part,  let  out  my  house 
(Belike,  presuming  on  my  known  aversion 
From  any  air  o'  the  town  while  there  was  sickness) 
To  a  doctor  and  a  captain  :   who,  what  they  are. 
Or  where  they  be,  he  knows  not. 

Mam.  Are  they  gone?  60 

Love.  You  may  go  in  and  search,  sir.     (Mammon,  Ana. 
^«^Trib.  go  in.)     Here,  I  find 
The  empty  walls  worse  than  I  left  them,  smoked, 
A  few  cracked  pots  and  glasses,  and  a  furnace  : 
The  ceiling  filled  with  poesies  of  the  candle. 
And  madam  with  a  dildo^  writ  o'  the  walls  : 
Only  one  gentlewoman,  I  met  here, 
That  is  within,  that  said  she  was  a  widow 

Kas.  Ay,  that's  my  suster :  I'll  go  thump  her.     Where  is 
she?  \_Goes  in. 

1  Hangman's  cart. 

2  The  refrain  of  a  coarse  old  song ;   cf.  Winter's  Tale,  iv,  3 ;   "  dildos 
and  faldings." 


SCENE  III.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  255 

Love.  And  should  have  married  a  Spanish  Count,  but  he, 
When  he  came  to't  neglected  her  so  grossly,  70 

That  I,  a  widower,  am  gone  through  with  her. 

Siir.  How  !   have  I  lost  her  then  ? 

Love.  Were  you  the  don,  sir  ! 
Good  faith,  now,  she  does  blame  you  extremely,  and  says 
You  swore,  and  told  her  you  had  taken  the  pains 
To  dye  your  beard,  and  umbre  o'er  your  face, 
Borrowed  a  suit,  and  ruff,  all  for  her  love ; 
And  then  did  nothing.     What  an  oversight. 
And  want  of  putting  forward,  sir,  was  this  ! 
Well  fare  an  old  harquebuzier,  yet,  80 

Could  prime  his  powder,  and  give  fire,  and  hit, 
All  in  a  twinkling  ! 

Re-enter  Mammon. 

Mam.  The  whole  nest  are  fled  ! 

Love.  What  sort  of  birds  were  they  ? 

Mam.  A  kind  of  choughs,^ 
Or  thievish  daws,  sir,  that  have  pick'd  my  purse 
Of  eight  score  and  ten  pound  within  these  five  weeks. 
Beside  my  first  materials  ;   and  my  goods. 
That  lie  in  the  cellar,  which  I  am  glad  they  have  left, 
I  may  have  home  yet.  90 

Love.  Think  you  so,  sir? 

Mam.  Ay. 

Love.  By  order  of  law,  sir,  but  not  otherwise. 

Mam.  Not  mine  own  stuff ! 

Love.  Sir,  I  can  take  no  knowledge 
That  they  are  yours,  but  by  public  means. 
If  you  can  bring  certificate  that  you  were  gull'd  of  them, 

1  Kind  of  crow. 


256  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  v. 

Or  any  formal  writ  out  of  a  court, 

That  you  did  cozen  yourself,  I  will  not  hold  them. 

Mam.  I'll  rather  lose  them.  100 

Love.  That  you  shall  not,  sir, 
By  me,  in  troth  :  upon  these  terms  they  are  yours. 
What !    should  they  have  been,  sir,  turn'd  into  gold,  all  ? 

Mam.  No, 
I  cannot  tell  —  It  may  be  they  should — What  then? 

Love.  What  a  great  loss  in  hope  have  you  sustain'd  ! 

Mam.  Not  I,  the  commonwealth  has. 

Face.  Ay,  he  would  have  built 
The  city  new ;  and  made  a  ditch  about  it 
Of  silver,  should  have  run  with  cream  from  Hogsden;        no 
That,  every  Sunday,  in  Moor-fields,  the  younkers,^ 
And  tits  and  tom-boys  should  have  fed  on,  gratis. 

Mam.  I  will  go  mount  a  turnip- cart  and  preach 
The  end  of  the  world,  within  these  two  months.     Surly, 
What !  in  a  dream  ? 

Sur.  Must  I  needs  cheat  myself, 
With  that  same  foolish  vice  of  honesty  ! 
Come,  let  us  go  and  hearken  out  the  rogues : 
That  Face  I'll  mark  for  mine,  if  e'er  I  meet  him. 

Face.  If  I  can  hear  of  him,  sir,  I'll  bring  you  word,        120 
Unto  your  lodging ;  for  in  troth,  they  were  strangers 
To  me,  I  thought  them  honest  as  myself,  sir. 

\_Exeunt  Mam.  and  Sur. 

Re-enter  Ananias  and  Tribulation. 

Tri.  'Tis  well,  the  saints  shall  not  lose  all  yet.     Go, 

1  Rich,  well-born   youths  (German  yunker)  ;    cf.  Merchant  of  Venice, 

ii,  6  :  — 

"  How  like  a  younker,  or  a  prodigal, 
The  scarfed  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay." 


SCENE  III.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  25  7 

And  get  some  carts 

Love.  For  what,  my  zealous  friends? 

Ana.  To  bear  away  the  portion  of  the  righteous 
Out  of  this  den  of  thieves. 

Love.  What  is  that  portion? 

Ana.  The  goods  sometimes  the  orphan's,  that  the  brethren 
Bought  with  their  silver  pence.  130 

Love.  What,  those  in  the  cellar, 
The  knight  Sir  Mammon  claims? 

Ana.    I  do  defy 
The  wicked  Mammon,  so  do  all  the  brethren, 
Thou  profane  man  !  I  ask  thee  with  what  conscience 
Thou  canst  advance  that  idol  against  us. 
That  have  the  seal?  were  not  the  shillings  number'd, 
That  made  the  pounds ;  were  not  the  pounds  told  out. 
Upon  the  second  day  of  the  fourth  week, 
In  the  eighth  month,  upon  the  table  dormant,  140 

The  year  of  the  last  patience  of  the  saints. 
Six  hundred  and  ten  ?  ., 

Love.  Mine  earnest  vehement  botcher. 
And  deacon  also,  I  cannot  dispute  with  you  : 
But  if  you  get  you  not  away  the  sooner, 
I  shall  confute  you  with  a  cudgel. 

Ana.  Sir  ! 

Tri.  Be  patient,  Ananias. 

Ana.  I  am  strong. 
And  will  stand  up,  well  girt,  against  an  host  150 

That  threaten  Gad  in  exile. 

Love.  I  shall  send  you 
To  Amsterdam,  to  your  cellar. 

Ana.  I  will  pray  there, 
Against  thy  house  :  may  dogs  defile  thy  walls, 


258  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  v. 

And  wasps  and  hornets  breed  beneath  thy  roof, 
This  seat  of  falsehood,  and  this  cave  of  cozenage  ! 

\_Jixeunt  A¥i\.  and  Triq. 

Enter  Drugger. 

Love.  Another  too  ? 

Drug.  Not  I,  sir,  I  am  no  brother. 

Love,  {beats  hint).  Away,  you  Harry  Nicholas^!  do  you 
talk  ?  {^Exit  Drugger.     160 

Face.  No,  this  was  Abel  Drugger.     Good  sir,  go, 

\^To  the  Parson. 
And  satisfy  him ;  tell  him  all  is  done  : 
He  staid  too  long  a-washing  of  his  face. 
The  doctor,  he  shall  hear  of  him  at  West-chester ; 
And  of  the  captain,  tell  him,  at  Yarmouth,  or 
Some  good  port-town  else,  lying  for  a  wind.     \^Exit  Parson. 
If  you  can  get  off  the  angry  child,  now,  sir 

Enter  Kastril,  dragging  in  his  sister. 

Kas.  Come  on,  you  ewe,  you  have  match'd  most  sweetly, 
have  you  not? 
'Slight,  you  are  a  mammet  ^ !     O,  I  could  touse  you,  now. 
Death,  mun'  you  marry,  with  a  plague  !  170 

Love.  You  lie,  boy ; 
As  sound  as  you ;  and  I'm  aforehand  with  you. 

Kas.  Anon  ! 

Love.  Come,  will  you  quarrel?     I  will  feize^  you,  sirrah  ; 
Why  do  you  not  buckle  to  your  tools  ? 

1  A  fanatic  of  Leyden,  supposed  to  be  the  founder  of  the  sect  called 
"  The  Family  of  Love." 

2  Puppet;    the  word  is  a  corruption  of  Mahomet,  and  was  applied  to 
effigies  of  him. 

8  Chastise,  beat ;  still  used  in  the  West  of  England. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  ALCHEMIST.  259 

Kas.  Ods  light, 
This  is  a  fine  old  boy  as  e'er  I  saw  ! 

Love.  What,  do  you  change  your  copy  now  ?     Proceed, 
Here  stands  my  dove  :  stoop  ^  at  her,  if  you  dare. 

Kas.   'Slight,  I  must  love  him  !  I  cannot  choose,  i'  faith. 
An  I  should  be  hang'd  for't !     Suster,  I  protest,  181 

I  honour  thee  for  this  match. 

Love.  O,  do  you  so,  sir? 

Kas.  Yes,  and  thou  canst  take  tobacco  and  drink,  old  boy, 
I'll  give  her  five  hundred  pound  more  to  her  marriage, 
Than  her  own  state. 

Love.  Fill  a  pipe  full,  Jeremy. 

Face.  Yes  ;  but  go  in  and  take  it,  sir. 

Love.  We  will  — 
I  will  be  ruled  by  thee  in  anything,  Jeremy.  190 

Kas.  'Slight,  thou  art  not  hide-bound,  thou  art  a  jovy^ 
boy  ! 
Come,  let  us  in,  I  pray  thee,  and  take  our  whiffs. 

Love.  Whiff  in  with  your  sister,  brother  boy. 

{^Exeunt  Y^^.  andT)AME  P.)   That  master 
That  had  received  such  happiness  by  a  servant. 
In  such  a  widow,  and  with  so  much  wealth, 
Were  very  ungrateful,  if  he  would  not  be 
A  little  indulgent  to  that  ser\^ant's  wit, 
And  help  his  fortune,  though  with  some  small  strain 
Of  his  own  candour.^  —  (Advancing.)  Therefore,  gentlemen. 
And  kind  spectators,  if  I  have  outstript  200 

An  old  man's  gravity,  or  strict  canon,  think 
What  a  young  wife  and  a  good  brain  may  do ; 
Stretch  age's  tnith  sometimes,  and  crack  it  too. 

1  Pounce  upon ;  a  term  in  falconry. 

2  Merry.  8  pair  reputation,  honor. 


26o  THE  ALCHEMIST.  [ACT  V. 

Speak  for  thyself,  knave. 

Face.  So  I  will,  sir. — {^Advancing  to  the  front  of  the  stage  ^ 
Gentlemen, 
My  part  a  little  fell  in  this  last  scene, 
Yet  'twas  decorum.     And  though  I  am  clean 
Got  off  from  Subtle,  Surly,  Mammon,  Dol, 
Hot  Ananias,  Dapper,  Drugger,  all 

With  whom  I  traded  :  yet  I  put  myself  210 

On  you  that  are  my  country :  and  this  pelf. 
Which  I  have  got,  if  you  do  quit  me,  rests 
To  feast  you  often,  and  invite  new  guests.  \_Exeunt} 

1  "  The  manifold  harmony  of  inventive  combination  and  imaginative 
contrast,  the  multitudinous  unity  of  various  and  concordant  eifects,  the 
complexity  and  the  simplicity  of  action  and  impression,  which  hardly  allow 
the  reader's  mind  to  hesitate  between  enjoyment  and  astonishment,  laughter 
and  wonder,  admiration  and  diversion  —  all  the  distinctive  qualities  which 
the  alchemic  cunning  of  the  poet  has  fused  together  in  the  crucible  of 
dramatic  satire  for  the  production  of  a  flawless  work  of  art,  have  given  us 
the  most  perfect  model  of  imaginative  realism  and  satirical  comedy  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen ;  the  most  wonderful  work  of  its  kind  that  can  ever  be 
run  upon  the  same  lines."  —  Szvinburne  :  A  Study  of  Ben  Jonson.  Cole- 
ridge "  thought  tiie  (Edipus  Tyrannus,  The  Alchemist,  and  Tom  Jones,  the 
three  most  perfect  plots  ever  planned." 


III. 

PHILASTER; 

OR, 

LOVE    LIES   A-BLEEDING. 

By  Francis  Beaumont  and  John  Fletcher. 

Probably  first  represented  in  1608. 


PHILASTER; 


OR, 


LOVE    LIES   A-BLEEDING. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


King. 

PHILASTER,   Heir  to  the  Crown  of 

Sicily. 
Pharamond,  Prince  of  Spain. 
Dion,  a  Lord. 
Cleremont 
Thrasiline, 
An  old  Captain. 
Citizens. 
A  Country  Fellow. 


Noble  Gentlemen. 


Two  Woodmen. 

Guard,  Attendants. 

Arethusa,  Daughter  of  the  King. 

Euphrasia,  Daughter  of  Dion,  dis- 
guised as  a  Page  under  the  name 
of  Bellario. 

Megra,  a  Court  Lady. 

Galatea,  a  Lady  attending  the 
Princess. 

Two  other  Ladies. 


Scene  :  Messina  and  its  neighbourhood. 


ACT   L 

Scene  L  —  The  Presence  Chamber  in  the  Palace, 

Enter  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Cle.  Here's  nor  lords  nor  ladies. 

Dion.  Credit  me,  gentlemen,  I  wonder  at  it.     They  re- 
ceived strict  charge  from  the  King  to  attend  here  :  besides, 

263 


264  PHILASTER.  [ACT  i. 

it  was  boldly  published,  that  no  officer  should  forbid  any 
gentleman  that  desired  to  attend  and  hear. 

Cle.  Can  you  guess  the  cause? 

Dion.  Sir,  it  is  plain,  about  the  Spanish  Prince,  that's 
come  to  marry  our  kingdom's  heir  and  be  our  sovereign. 

Thra.  Many,  that  will  seem  to  know  much,  say  she  looks 
not  on  him  like  a  maid  in  love.  10 

Dion.  Oh,  sir,  the  multitude,  that  seldom  know  any  thing 
but  their  own  opinions,  speak  that  they  would  have ;  but 
the  prince,  before  his  own  approach,  received  so  many  con- 
fident messages  from  the  state,  that  I  think  she's  resolved  to 
be  ruled. 

Cle.  Sir,  it  is  thought,  with  her  he  shall  enjoy  both  these 
kingdoms  of  Sicily  and  Calabria. 

Dion.  Sir,  it  is  without  controversy  so  meant.  But  'twill 
be  a  troublesome  labour  for  him  to  enjoy  both  these  king- 
doms with  safety,  the  right  heir  to  one  of  them  living,  and 
living  so  virtuously;  especially,  the  people  admiring  the 
bravery  of  his  mind  and  lamenting  his  injuries.  22 

Cle.  Who?  Philaster? 

Dion.  Yes ;  whose  father,  we  all  know,  was  by  our  late 
King  of  Calabria  unrighteously  deposed  from  his  fruitful 
Sicily.  Myself  drew  some  blood  in  those  wars,  which  I 
would  give  my  hand  to  be  washed  from. 

Cle.  Sir,  my  ignorance  in  state-policy  will  not  let  me  know 
why,  Philaster  being  heir  to  one  of  these  kingdoms,  the  King 
should  suffer  him  to  walk  abroad  with  such  free  liberty.       30 

Dion.  Sir,  it  seems  your  nature  is  more  constant  than  to 
inquire  after  state-news.  But  the  King,  of  late,  made  a  hazard 
of  both  the  kingdoms,  of  Sicily  and  his  own,  with  offering  but 
to  imprison  Philaster ;  at  which  the  city  was  in  arms,  not  to 
be  charmed  down  by  any  stated-order  or  proclamation,  till 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  265 

they  saw  Philaster  ride  through  the  streets  pleased  and  with- 
out a  guard ;  at  which  they  threw  their  hats  and  their  arms 
from  them ;  some  to  make  bonfires,  some  to  drink,  all  for 
his  deliverance  :  which,  wise  men  say,  is  the  cause  the  King 
labours  to  bring  in  the  power  of  a  foreign  nation  to  awe  hii 
own  with.  41 

Enter  Galatea,  a  Lady,  and  Megra. 

Thra.  See,  the  ladies  !     What's  the  first  ? 

Dion.  A  wise  and  modest  gentlewoman  that  attends  the 
princess. 

Cle.  The  second? 

Dion.  She  is  one  that  may  stand  still  discreetly  enough, 
and  ill-favouredly  dance  her  measure ;  simper  when  she  is 
courted  by  her  friend,  and  slight  her  husband. 

Cle.  The  last?  49 

Dion.  Marry,  I  think  she  is  one  whom  the  state  keeps  for 
the  agents  of  our  confederate  princes :  she'll  cog  ^  and  lie 
with  a  whole  army,  before  the  league  shall  break.  Her 
name  is  common  through  the  kingdom,  and  the  trophies  of 
her  dishonour  advanced  beyond  Hercules'  Pillars. 

Cle.  She's  a  profitable  member. 

Lady.  Peace,  if  you  love  me  :  you  shall  see  these  gentle- 
men stand  their  ground  and  not  court  us. 

6^^/.  What  if  they  should? 

Megra.  What  if  they  should  !  59 

Lady.  Nay,  let  her  alone.  —  What  if  they  should  !  Why, 
if  they  should,  I  say  they  were  never  abroad  :  what  foreigner 
would  do  so  ?  it  writes  them  directly  untravelled. 

Gal.  Why,  what  if  they  be  ? 

Megra.  What  if  they  be  ! 

1  Cheat,  cajole. 


266  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I. 

Lady.  Good  madam,  let  her  go  on.  —  What  if  they  be  ! 
why,  if  they  be,  I  will  justify,  they  cannot  maintain  discourse 
with  a  judicious  lady,  nor  make  a  leg  ^  nor  say  "  excuse  me." 

Gal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Lady.  Do  you  laugh,  madam  ? 

Dion.  Your  desires  upon  you,  ladies  !  70 

Lady.  Then  you  must  sit  beside  us. 

Dion.  I  shall  sit  near  you  then,  lady. 

Lady.  Near  me,  perhaps ;  but  there's  a  lady  endures  no 
stranger ;  and  to  me  you  appear  a  very  strange  fellow. 

Megra.  Methinks  he's  not  so  strange  ;  he  would  quickly  be 
acquainted. 

Thra.  Peace,  the  King  ! 

Enter  King,  Pharamond,  Arethusa,  and  Attendants. 

King.  To  give  a  stronger  testimony  of  love 
Than  sickly  promises  (which  commonly 
In  princes  find  both  birth  and  burial  80 

In  one  breath)  we  have  drawn  you,  worthy  sir. 
To  make  your  fair  endearments  to  our  daughter, 
And  worthy  services  known  to  our  subjects. 
Now  loved  and  wondered  at ;  next,  our  intent 
To  plant  you  deeply,  our  immediate  heir 
Both  to  our  blood  and  kingdoms.     For  this  lady, 
(The  best  part  of  your  life,  as  you  confirm  me. 
And  I  believe,)  though  her  few  years  and  sex 
Yet  teach  her  nothing  but  her  fears  and  blushes, 
Desires  without  desire,  discourse  and  knowledge  9a 

Only  of  what  herself  is  to  herself, 
Make  her  feel  moderate  health ;  and  when  she  sleeps, 
In  making  no  ill  day,  knows  no  ill  dreams : 
1  Bow.  * 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  267 

Think  not,  dear  sir,  these  undivided  parts, 

That  must  mould  up  a  virgin,  are  put  on 

To  show  her  so,  as  borrowed  ornaments, 

To  speak  her  perfect  love  to  you,  or  add 

An  artificial  shadow  to  her  nature  — 

No,  sir ;  I  boldly  dare  proclaim  her  yet 

No  woman.     But  woo  her  still,  and  think  her  modesty      100 

A  sweeter  mistress  than  the  offered  language 

Of  any  dame,  were  she  a  queen,  whose  eye 

Speaks  common  loves  and  comforts  to  her  servants.^ 

Last,  noble  son  (for  so  I  now  must  call  you), 

What  I  have  done  thus  public,  is  not  only 

To  add  a  comfort  in  particular 

To  you  or  me,  but  all ;  and  to  confirm 

The  nobles  and  the  gentry  of  these  kingdoms 

By  oath  to  your  succession,  which  shall  be 

Within  this  month  at  most.  no 

Thra.  This  will  be  hardly  done. 

Cle.  It  must  be  ill  done,  if  it  be  done. 

Dion.  When  'tis  at  best,  'twill  be  but  half  done,  whilst 
So  brave  a  gentleman  is  wronged  and  flung  off. 

Thra.  I  fear. 

Cle.  Who  does  not? 

Dion.  I  fear  not  for  myself,  and  yet  I  fear  too : 
Well,  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see.     No  more. 

Pha.  Kissing  your  white  hand,  mistress,  I  take  leave 
To  thank  your  royal  father ;  and  thus  far  120 

To  be  my  own  free  trumpet.     Understand, 
Great  King,  and  these  your  subjects,  mine  that  must  be, 
(For  so  deserving  you  have  spoke  me,  sir, 
And  so  deserving  I  dare  speak  myself,) 

1  Suitors. 


268  PHIL  ASTER.  [ACT  i. 

To  what  a  person,  of  what  eminence, 

Ripe  expectation,  of  what  faculties. 

Manners  and  virtues,  you  would  wed  your  kingdoms ; 

You  in  me  have  your  wishes.     Oh,  this  country  ! 

By  more  than  all  my  hopes,  I  hold  it  happy  ; 

Happy  in  their  dear  memories  that  have  been  130 

Kings  great  and  good  ;  happy  in  yours  that  is ; 

And  from  you  (as  a  chronicle  to  keep 

Your  noble  name  from  eating  age)  do  I 

Opine  myself  most  happy.     Gentlemen, 

Believe  me  in  a  word,  a  prince's  word. 

There  shall  be  nothing  to  make  up  a  kingdom 

Mighty  and  flourishing,  defenced,  feared, 

Equal  to  be-  commanded  and  obeyed. 

But  through  the  travails  of  my  life  I'll  find  it, 

And  tie  it  to  this  country.     And  I  vow  140 

My  reign  shall  be  so  easy  to  the  subject, 

That  every  man  shall  be  his  prince  himself 

And  his  own  law  —  yet  I  his  prince  and  law. 

And,  dearest  lady,  to  your  dearest  self 

(Dear  in  the  choice  of  him  whose  name  and  lustre 

Must  make  you  more  and  mightier)  let  me  say, 

You  are  the  blessed'st  living ;  for,  sweet  princess. 

You  shall  enjoy  a  man  of  men  to  be 

Your  servant ;  you  shall  make  him  yours,  for  whom 

Great  queens  must  die.  150 

Thra.  Miraculous  ! 

Cle.  This  speech  calls  him  Spaniard,  being  nothing 
But  a  large  inventory  of  his  own  commendations. 

Dion.  I  wonder  what's  his  price  ;  for  certainly 
He'll  sell  himself,  he  has  so  praised  his  shape. 
But  here  comes  one  more  worthy  those  large  speeches, 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  269 

Enter  Philaster. 

Than  the  large  speaker  of  them. 

Let  me  be  swallowed  quick,  if  I  can  find, 

In  all  the  anatomy  of  yon  man's  virtues, 

One  sinew  sound  enough  to  promise  for  him,  160 

He  shall  be  constable.     By  this  sun,  he'll  ne'er  make  king 

Unless  it  be  for  trifles,  in  my  poor  judgment. 

Phi.   {kneeling).  Right  noble  sir,  as  low  as  my  obedience. 
And  with  a  heart  as  loyal  as  my  knee, 
I  beg  your  favour. 

King.  Rise  ;  you  have  it,  sir.  [Philaster  rises. 

Dion.  Mark  but  the  King,  how  pale  he  looks  with  fear  ! 
Oh,  this  same  nettle  conscience,  how  it  jades  us  ! 

King.  Speak  your  intents,  sir. 

Phi.  Shall  I  speak  'em  freely?  170 

Be  still  my  royal  sovereign. 

King.  As  a  subject. 
We  give  you  freedom. 

Dion.  Now  it  heats. 

Phi.  Then  thus  I  turn 
My  language  to  you,  prince ;  you,  foreign  man  ! 
Ne'er  stare  nor  put  on  wonder,  for  you  must 
Endure  me,  and  you  shall.     This  earth  you  tread  upon 
(A  dowry,  as  you  hope,  with  this  fair  princess), 
By  my  dead  father  (oh,  I  had  a  father,  180 

Whose  memory  I  bow  to  !)  was  not  left 
To  your  inheritance,  and  I  up  and  living  — 
Having  myself  about  me  and  my  sword. 
The  souls  of  all  my  name  and  memories. 
These  arms  and  some  few  friends  beside  the  gods  — 
To  part  so  calmly  with  it,  and  sit  still 


270  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I. 

And  say,  "  I  might  have  been."     I  tell  thee,  Pharamond, 

When  thou  art  king,  look  I  be  dead  and  rotten. 

And  my  name  ashes  :  for,  hear  me,  Pharamond  ! 

This  very  ground  thou  goest  on,  this  fat  earth,  190 

My  father's  friends  made  fertile  with  their  faiths, 

Before  that  day  of  shame  shall  gape  and  swallow 

Thee  and  thy  nation,  like  a  hungry  grave. 

Into  her  hidden  bowels  ;  prince,  it  shall ; 

By  Nemesis,  it  shall ! 

Pha.  He's  mad ;  beyond  cure,  mad. 

Dion.  Here  is  a  fellow  has  some  fire  in's  veins  : 
The  outlandish  prince  looks  like  a  tooth-drawer. 

Phi.  Sir,  prince  of  popinjays,^  I'll  make  it  well 
Appear  to  you  I  am  not  mad.  200 

King.  You  displease  us  : 
You  are  too  bold. 

Phi.  No,  sir,  I  am  too  tame. 
Too  much  a  turtle,  a  thing  born  without  passion, 
A  faint  shadow,  that  every  drunken  cloud 
Sails  over  and  makes  nothing. 

King.  I  do  not  fancy  this. 
Call  our  physicians  :  sure,  he's  somewhat  tainted. 

Th7'a.  I  do  not  think  'twill  prove  so. 

Dion.  He  has  given  him  a  general  purge  already,  210 

For  all  the  right  he  has ;  and  now  he  means 
To  let  him  blood.     Be  constant,  gentlemen  : 
By  these  hilts,  I'll  run  his  hazard, 
Although  I  run  my  name  out  of  the  kingdom  ! 

Cle.  Peace,  we  are  all  one  soul. 

Pha.  What  you  have  seen  in  me  to  stir  offence, 

1  Parrots ;  a  mark  like  a  parrot  put  on  a  pole  to  be  shot  at ;  hence  a 
coxcomb. 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  271 

I  cannot  find,  unless  it  be  this  lady, 

Offered  into  mine  arms,  with  the  succession ; 

Which  I  must  keep,  (though  it  hath  pleased  your  fury 

To  mutiny  within  you,)  without  disputing  220 

Your  genealogies,  or  taking  knowledge 

Whose  branch  you  are  :  the  King  will  leave  it  me. 

And  I  dare  make  it  mine.     You  have  your  answer. 

Phi.  If  thou  wert  sole  inheritor  to  him 
That  made  the  world  his,  and  couldst  see  no  sun 
Shine  upon  anything  but  thine ;  were  Pharamond 
As  truly  valiant  as  I  feel  him  cold, 
And  ringed  among  the  choicest  of  his  friends 
(Such  as  would  blush  to  talk  such  serious  follies, 
Or  back  such  bellied  commendations),  230 

And  from  this  presence,  spite  of  all  these  bugs,^ 
You  should  hear  further  from  me. 

King.  Sir,  you  wrong  the  prince ;    I   gave  you  not  this 
freedom 
To  brave  our  best  friends  :  you  deserve  our  frown. 
Go  to ;  be  better  tempered. 

Phi.  It  must  be,  sir,  when  I  am  nobler  used. 

Gal.  Ladies, 
This  would  have  been  a  pattern  of  succession, 
Had  he  ne'er  met  this  mischief.     By  my  life,  240 

He  is  the  worthiest  the  true  name  of  man 
This  day  within  my  knowledge. 

Meg.  I  cannot  tell  what  you  may  call  your  knowledge ; 
But  the  other  is  the  man  set  in  mine  eye : 
Oh,  'tis  a  prince  of  wax  !  ^ 

Gal.  A  dog  it  is. 

1  Bugbears.     In  Welsh,  bwg  means  spectre,  a  hobgoblin. 

2  Handsome,  elegant. 


272  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I 

King.  Philaster,  tell  me 
The  injuries  you  aim  at  in  your  riddles. 

Phi.  If  you  had  my  eyes,  sir,  and  sufferance, 
My  griefs  upon  you  and  my  broken  fortunes,  250 

My  wants  great,  and  now  nought  but  hopes  and  fears. 
My  wrongs  would  make  ill  riddles  to  be  laughed  at. 
Dare  you  be  still  my  king,  and  right  me  not? 

King.  Give  me  your  wrongs  in  private. 

Phi.  Take  them. 
And  ease  me  of  a  load  would  bow  strong  Atlas. 

\They  talk  apart 

Cle.  He  dares  not  stand  the  shock. 

Dion.  I  cannot  blame  him  ;  there's  danger  in't.  258 

Every  man  in  this  age  has  not  a  soul  of  crystal,  for  all  men 
to  read  their  actions  through  :  men's  hearts  and  faces  are  so 
far  asunder,  that  they  hold  no  intelligence.  Do  but  view  yon 
stranger  well,  and  you  shall  see  a  fever  through  all  his  bravery, 
and  feel  him  shake  like  a  true  recreant :  if  he  give  not  back 
his  crown  again  upon  the  report  of  an  elder-gun,  I  have  no 
augury. 

King.  Go  to ; 
Be  more  yourself,  as  you  respect  our  favour ; 
You'll  stir  us  else.     Sir,  I  must  have  you  know. 
That  you  are,  and  shall  be,  at  our  pleasure, 
What  fashion  we  will  put  upon  you.     Smooth  27a 

Vour  brow,  or  by  the  gods 

Phi.  I  am  dead,  sir ;  you're  my  fate.     It  was  not  I 
Said,  I  was  wronged  :  I  carry  all  about  me 
My  weak  stars  lead  me  to,  all  my  weak  fortunes. 
Who  dares  in  all  this  presence  speak,  (that  is 
But  man  of  flesh,  and  may  be  mortal,)  tell  me, 
I  do  not  most  entirely  love  this  prince, 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  273 

And  honour  his  full  virtues  ! 

King.  Sure,  he's  possessed. 

Phi.  Yes,  with  my  father's  spirit.     It's  here,  O  King  I  280 
A  dangerous  spirit.     Now  he  tells  me,  King, 
I  was  a  king's  heir,  bids  me  be  a  king, 
And  whispers  to  me,  these  are  all  my  subjects. 
'Tis  strange  he  will  not  let  me  sleep,  but  dives 
Into  my  fancy,  and  there  gives  me  shapes 
That  kneel  and  do  me  service,  cry  me  king : 
But  I'll  suppress  him ;  he's  a  factious  spirit. 
And  will  undo  me.     Noble  sir,  your  hand ; 
I  am  your  servant. 

King.  Away  !  I  do  not  like  this  :  290 

I'll  make  you  tamer,  or  I'll  dispossess  you 
Both  of  your  life  and  spirit.     For  this  time 
I  pardon  your  wild  speech,  without  so  much 
As  your  imprisonment. 

{^Exeunt  King,  Pharamond,  Arethusa, 
and  Attendants. 

Dion,  I  thank  you,  sir  !  you  dare  not  for  the  people. 

Gal.  Ladies,  what  think  you  now  of  this  brave  fellow? 

Meg.  A  pretty  talking  fellow,  hot  at  hand.  But  eye  yon 
stranger :  is  he  not  a  fine  complete  gentleman  ?  Oh,  these 
strangers,  I  do  affect  them  strangely  !  As  I  hve,  I  could  love 
all  the  nation  over  and  over  for  his  sake.  300 

GaL  Pride  comfort  your  poor  head-piece,  lady  !  'tis  a 
weak  one,  and  had  need  of  a  night-cap. 

{^Exeunt  Galatea,  Megra,  and  Lady. 

Dion.  See,  how  his  fancy  labours  !     Has  he  not 
Spoke  home  and  bravely?  what  a  dangerous  train 
Did  he  give  fire  to  !  how  he  shook  the  King, 
Made  his  soul  melt  within  him,  and  his  blood 


2  74  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I. 

Run  into  whey  !  it  stood  upon  his  brow- 
Like  a  cold  winter-dewo 

Phi.  Gentlemen, 
You  have  no  suit  to  me  ?  I  am  no  minion  :  310 

You  stand,  methinks,  like  men  that  would  be  courtiers, 
If  I  could  well  be  flattered  at  a  price, 
Not  to  undo  your  children.     You're  all  honest : 
Go,  get  you  home  again,  and  make  your  country 
A  virtuous  court,  to  which  your  great  ones  may. 
In  their  diseased  age,  retire  and  live  recluse. 

Cle.  How  do  you,  worthy  sir? 

Phi.  Well,  very  well ; 
And  so  well  that,  if  the  King  please,  I  find 
I  may  live  many  years.  320 

Dion.  The  King  must  please, 
Whilst  we  know  what  you  are  and  who  you  are. 
Your  wrongs  and  virtues.     Shrink  not,  worthy  sir. 
But  add  your  father  to  you  ;  in  whose  name 
We'll  waken  all  the  gods,  and  conjure  up 
The  rods  of  vengeance,  the  abused  people. 
Who,  like  to  raging  torrents,  shall  swell  high. 
And  so  begirt  the  dens  of  these  male-dragons. 
That,  through  the  strongest  safety,  they  shall  beg 
For  mercy  at  your  sword's  point.  330 

Phi.  Friends,  no  more  ; 
Our  ears  may  be  corrupted ;  'tis  an  age 
We  dare  not  trust  our  wills  to.     Do  you  love  me  ? 

Thra.  Do  we  love  Heaven  and  honour  ? 

Phi.  My  Lord  Dion,  you  had 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman  called  you  father ; 
Is  she  yet  alive  ? 

Dion.  Most  honoured  sir,  she  is ; 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  275 

And,  for  the  penance  but  of  an  idle  dream, 

Has  undertook  a  tedious  pilgrimage.  340 

Enter  a  Lady. 

Phi.  Is  it  to  me 
Or  any  of  these  gentlemen  you  come? 

Lady.  To  you,  brave  lord ;  the  princess  would  entreat 
Your  present  company. 

Phi.  The  princess  send  for  me  !  you  are  mistaken. 

Lady.  If  you  be  called  Philaster,  'tis  to  you. 

Phi.  Kiss  her  fair  hand,  and  say  I  will  attend  her. 

\_Exit  Lady. 

Dion.  Do  you  know  what  you  do  ? 

Phi.  Yes ;  go  to  see  a  woman. 

Cle.  But  do  you  weigh  the  danger  you  are  in  ?  350 

Phi.  Danger  in  a  sweet  face  ! 
By  Jupiter,  I  must  not  fear  a  woman  ! 

Thra.  But  are  you  sure  it  was  the  princess  sent  ? 
It  may  be  some  foul  train  to  catch  your  life. 

Phi.  I  do  not  think  it,  gentlemen  ;  she's  noble. 
Her  eye  may  shoot  me  dead,  or  those  true  red 
And  white  friends  in  her  face  may  steal  my  soul  out ; 
There's  all  the  danger  in't :  but,  be  what  may. 
Her  single  name  hath  armed  me.  \_Exit. 

Dion.  Go  on,  360 

And  be  as  truly  happy  as  thou'rt  fearless  ! 
Come,  gentlemen,  let's  make  our  friends  acquainted. 
Lest  the  King  prove  false.  \_Exeunt. . 


2  76  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I. 

Scene  II.  —  Arethusa's  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Arethusa  and  a  Lady. 

Are.  Comes  he  not? 

Lady.  Madam? 

Are.  Will  Philaster  come  ? 

Lady.  Dear  madam,  you  were  wont  to  credit  me 
At  first. 

Are.  But  didst  thou  tell  me  so? 
I  am  forgetful,  and  my  woman's  strength 
Is  so  o'ercharged  with  dangers  like  to  grow 
About  my  marriage,  that  these  under-things 
Dare  not  abide  in  such  a  troubled  sea.  lo 

How  looked  he  when  he  told  thee  he  would  come  ? 

Lady.  Why,  well. 

Are.  And  not  a  Httle  fearful? 

Lady.  Fear,  madam  !   sure,  he  knows  not  what  it  is. 

Are.  You  are  all  of  his  faction ;  the  whole  court 
Is  bold  in  praise  of  him ;  whilst  I 
May  live  neglected,  and  do  noble  things, 
As  fools  in  strife  throw  gold  into  the  sea, 
Drowned  in  the  doing.     But,  I  know  he  fears. 

Lady.  Fear,  madam  !  methought,  his  looks  hid  more      20 
Of  love  than  fear. 

Are.  Of  love  !   to  whom  ?   to  you  ? 
Did  you  deliver  those  plain  words  I  sent. 
With  such  a  winning  gesture  and  quick  look 
That  you  have  caught  him? 

Lady.  Madam,  I  mean  to  you. 

Are.  Of  love  to  me  !    alas,  thy  ignorance 
Lets  thee  not  see  the  crosses  of  our  births  ! 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  277 

Nature,  that  loves  not  to  be  questioned 

Why  she  did  this  or  that,  but  has  her  ends,  30 

And  knows  she  does  well,  never  gave  the  world 

Two  things  so  opposite,  so  contrary, 

As  he  and  I  am  :  if  a  bowl  of  blood. 

Drawn  from  this  arm  of  mine,  would  poison  thee, 

A  draught  of  his  would  cure  thee.     Of  love  to  me  ! 

Lady.   Madam,  I  think  I  hear  him. 

Are.  Bring  him  in.  \^Exit  Lady. 

You  gods,  that  would  not  have  your  dooms  withstood. 
Whose  holy  wisdoms  at  this  time  it  is. 

To  make  the  passion  of  a  feeble  maid  40 

The  way  unto  your  justice,  I  obey. 

Re-enter  Lady  with  Philaster. 

Lady.  Here  is  my  Lord  Philaster. 

Are.  Oh,  'tis  well. 
Withdraw  yourself.  \^Exit\j3Ay. 

Phi.  Madam,  your  messenger 
Made  me  beheve  you  wished  to  speak  with  me. 

Are.  'Tis  true,  Philaster ;  but  the  words  are  such 
I  have  to  say,  and  do  so  ill  beseem 
The  mouth  of  woman,  that  I  wish  them  said, 
And  yet  am  loath  to  speak  them.     Have  you  known  50 

That  I  have  aught  detracted  from  your  worth  ? 
Have  I  in  person  wronged  you  ?   or  have  set 
My  baser  instruments  to  throw  disgrace 
Upon  your  virtues  ? 

Phi.  Never,  madam,  you. 

Are.  Why,  then,  should  you,  in  such  a  public  place, 
Injure  a  princess,  and  a  scandal  lay 
Upon  my  fortunes,  famed  to  be  so  great, 


278  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I. 

Calling  a  great  part  of  my  dowry  in  question  ? 

Phi.  Madam,  this  truth  which  I  shall  speak  will  be  60 

Foolish  :  but,  for  your  fair  and  virtuous  self, 
I  could  afford  myself  to  have  no  right 
To  anything  you  wished. 

Are.  Philaster,  know, 
I  must  enjoy  these  kingdoms. 

Phi.  Madam,  both  ? 

Are.  Both,  or  I  die  :  by  fate,  I  die,  Philaster, 
If  I  not  calmly  may  enjoy  them  both. 

Phi.  I  would  do  much  to  save  that  noble  life  : 
Yet  would  be  loath  to  have  posterity  70 

Find  in  our  stories,  that  Philaster  gave 
His  right  unto  a  sceptre  and  a  crown 
To  save  a  lady's  longing. 

Are.  Nay,  then,  hear  : 
I  must  and  will  have  them,  and  more 

Phi.  What  more  ? 

Are.  Or  lose  that  little  life  the  gods  prepared 
To  trouble  this  poor  piece  of  earth  withal. 

Phi.  Madam,  what  more  ? 

Are.  Turn,  then,  away  thy  face.  80 

Phi.  No. 

Are.  Do. 

Phi.  I  can  endure  it.     Turn  away  my  face  ! 
I  never  yet  saw  enemy  that  looked 
So  dreadfully,  but  that  I  thought  myself 
As  great  a  basilisk  as  he  ;  or  spake 
So  horrible,  but  that  I  thought  my  tongue 
Bore  thunder  underneath,  as  much  as  his ; 
Nor  beast  that  I  could  turn  from  :  shall  I  then 
Begin  to  fear  sweet  sounds  ?  a  lady's  voice,  90 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  279 

Whom  I  do  love  ?     Say,  you  would  have  my  life ; 
Why,  I  will  give  it  you ;  for  'tis  to  me 
A  thing  so  loathed,  and  unto  you  that  ask 
Of  so  poor  use,  that  I  shall  make  no  price  : 
If  you  entreat,  I  will  unmovedly  hear. 

Are.  Yet,  for  my  sake,  a  little  bend  thy  looks. 

Phi.  I  do. 

Are.  Then  know,  I  must  have  them  and  thee. 

Phi.  And  me  ? 

Are.  Thy  love  ;  without  which,  all  the  land  100 

Discovered  yet  will  serve  me  for  no  use 
But  to  be  buried  in. 

Phi.  Is't  possible? 

Are.  With  it,  it  were  too  little  to  bestow 
On  thee.     Now,  though  thy  breath  do  strike  me  dead, 
(Which,  know,  it  may)  I  have  unript  my  breast. 

Phi.  Madam,  you  are  too  full  of  noble  thoughts, 
To  lay  a  train  for  this  contemned  life, 
Which  you  may  have  for  asking  :  to  suspect 
Were  base,  where  I  deserve  no  ill.     Love  you  !  no 

By  all  my  hopes,  I  do,  above  my  life  ! 
But  how  this  passion  should  proceed  from  you 
So  violently,  would  amaze  a  man 
That  would  be  jealous. 

Are.  Another  soul  into  my  body  shot 
Could  not  have  filled  me  with  more  strength  and  spirit 
Than  this  thy  breath.     But  spend  not  hasty  time 
In  seeking  how  I  came  thus  :   'tis  the  gods, 
The  gods,  that  make  me  so ;  and,  sure,  our  love 
Will  be  the  nobler  and  the  better  blest,  120 

In  that  the  secret  justice  of  the  gods 
Is  mingled  with  it.     Let  us  leave,  and  kiss ; 


28o  PHILASTER.  [ACT  I. 

Lest  some  unwelcome  guest  should  fall  betwixt  us. 
And  we  should  part  without  it. 

Phi.  'Twill  be  ill 
I  should  abide  here  long. 

Are.  'Tis  true  ;  and  worse 
You  should  come  often.     How  shall  we  devise 
To  hold  intelligence,  that  our  true  loves, 
On  any  new  occasion,  may  agree  130 

What  path  is  best  to  tread  ? 

Phi.  I  have  a  boy, 
Sent  by  the  gods,  I  hope,  to  this  intent, 
Not  yet  seen  in  the  court.     Hunting  the  buck, 
I  found  him  sitting  by  a  fountain's  side, 
Of  which  he  borrowed  some  to  quench  his  thirst, 
And  paid  the  nymph  again  as  much  in  tears. 
A  garland  lay  him  by,  made  by  himself 
Of  many  several  flowers  bred  in  the  vale. 
Stuck  in  that  mystic  order  that  the  rareness  140 

Delighted  me  :  but  ever  when  he  turned 
His  tender  eyes  upon  'em,  he  would  weep,     . 
As  if  he  meant  to  make  'em  grow  again. 
Seeing  such  pretty  helpless  innocence 
Dwell  in  his  face,  I  asked  him  all  his  story : 
He  told  me  that  his  parents  gentle  died, 
Leaving  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  fields, 
Which  gave  him  roots  ;  and  of  the  crystal  springs. 
Which  did  not  stop  their  courses ;  and  the  sun, 
Which  still,  he  thanked  him,  yielded  him  his  light.  150 

Then  took  he  up  his  garland,  and  did  show 
What  every  flower,  as  country-people  hold. 
Did  signify,  and  how  all,  ordered  thus. 
Expressed  his  grief;  and,  to  my  thoughts,  did  read 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  28 1 

The  prettiest  lecture  of  his  country  art 

That  could  be  wished  :  so  that,  methought,  I  could 

Have  studied  it.     I  gladly  entertained 

Him,  who  was  as  glad  to  follow ;  and  have  got 

The  trustiest,  loving'st,  and  the  gentlest  boy 

That  ever  master  kept.^     Him  will  I  send  160 

To  wait  on  you,  and  bear  our  hidden  love. 

Re-enter  Lady. 

Are.  'Tis  well ;  no  more. 

Lady,  Madam,  the  prince  is  come  to  do  his  service. 

Are.  What  will  you  do,  Philaster,  with  yourself? 

Phi.  Why,  that  which  all  the  gods  have  pointed  out  for  me. 

Are.  Dear,  hide  thyself. — 
Bring  in  the  prince.  \^Exit  Lady. 

Phi.  Hide  me  from  Pharamond  ! 
When  thunder  speaks,  which  is  the  voice  of  Jove, 
Though  I  do  reverence,  yet  I  hide  me  not ;  170 

And  shall  a  stranger-prince  have  leave  to  brag 
Unto  a  foreign  nation,  that  he  made 
Philaster  hide  himself? 

Are.  He  cannot  know  it. 

Phi.  Though  it  should  sleep  for  ever  to  the  world. 
It  is  a  simple  sin  to  hide  myself. 
Which  will  for  ever  on  my  conscience  lie. 

Are.  Then,  good  Philaster,  give  him  scope  and  way 
In  what  he  says  ;  for  he  is  apt  to  speak 
What  you  are  loath  to  hear  :  for  my  sake,  do.  180 

Phi.  I  will. 

^  This  pretty  and  picturesque  passage  —  probably  by  Fletcher  —  is  a 
good  specimen  of  that  romantic  quality  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  works 
to  which  reference  has  been  made  in  the  Preface. 


282  PHILASTER.  -  [act  I. 

Re-enter  Lady  with  Pharamond. 

Pha.  My  princely  mistress,  as  true  lovers  ought, 
I  come  to  kiss  these  fair  hands,  and  to  show,      \_Exit  Lady. 
In  outward  ceremonies,  the  dear  love 
Writ  in  my  heart. 

Phi.  If  I  shall  have  an  answer  no  directlier, 
I  am  gone. 

Pha.  To  what  would  he  have  answer? 

Are.  To  his  claim  unto  the  kingdom. 

Pha.  Sirrah,  I  forbare  you  before  the  King 190 

Phi.  Good  sir,  do  so  still :  I  would  not  talk  with  you. 

Pha.  But  now  the  time  is  fitter :  do  but  offer 
To  make  mention  of  right  to  any  kingdom, 
Though  it  be  scarce  habitable 

Phi.  Good  sir,  let  me  go. 

Pha.  And  by  my  sword 

Phi.  Peace,  Pharamond  !    if  thou  — 

Are.  Leave  us,  Philaster. 

Phi.  I  have  done.  \_Going. 

Pha.  You  are  gone  !  by  Heaven  I'll  fetch  you  back.      200 

Phi.  You  shall  not  need.  {Returning. 

Pha.  What  now? 

Phi.  Know,  Pharamond, 
I  loathe  to  brawl  with  such  a  blast  as  thou, 
Who  art  nought  but  a  valiant  voice  ;  but  if 
Thou  shalt  provoke  me  further,  men  shall  say, 
"Thou  wert,"  and  not  lament  it. 

Pha.  Do  you  slight 
My  greatness  so,  and  in  the  chamber  of 
The  princess?  210 

Phi.  It  is  a  place  to  which  I  must  confess 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  283 

I  owe  a  reverence ;  but  were't  the  church. 

Ay,  at  the  altar,  there's  no  place  so  safe, 

Where  thou  dar'st  injure  me,  but  I  dare  kill  thee  : 

And  for  your  greatness,  know,  sir,  I  can  grasp 

You  and  your  greatness  thus,  thus  into  nothing. 

Give  not  a  word,  not  a  word  back  !     Farewell.  \_Exit. 

Pha.  'Tis  an  odd  fellow,  madam ;  we  must  stop 
His  mouth  with  some  office  when  we  are  married. 

Are.  You  were  best  make  him  your  controller.  220 

Pha.  I  think  he  would  discharge  it  well.     But,  madam, 
I  hope  our  hearts  are  knit ;  and  yet,  so  slow 
The  ceremonies  of  state  are,  that  'twill  be  long 
Before  our  hands  be  so.     If  then  you  please, 
Being  agreed  in  heart,  let  us  not  wait 
For  dreaming  form,  but  take  a  little  stolen 
Delights,  and  so  prevent^  our  joys  to  come. 

Are.  If  you  dare  speak  such  thoughts, 
I  must  withdraw  in  honour.  \_Exit. 

Pha.  The    constitution   of  my  body  will  never  hold  out 
till  the  wedding ;  I  must  seek  elsewhere.  \_Exit.     231 


ACT   II. 

Scene   I.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Philaster  and  Bellario. 

Phi.  And  thou  shalt  find  her  honourable,  boy ; 
Full  of  regard  unto  thy  tender  youth. 
For  thine  own  modesty ;  and,  for  my  sake, 

1  Outstrip,  forestall,  anticipate ;  cf.  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  i,  94  ;   Hamlet,  ii, 
2.  305. 


284  PHILASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Apter  to  give  than  thou  wilt  be  to  ask, 
Ay,  or  deserve. 

Bel.  Sir,  you  did  take  me  up 
When  I  was  nothing ;  and  only  yet  am  something 
By  being  yours.     You  trusted  me  unknown ; 
And  that  which  you  were  apt  to  conster  ^ 
A  simple  innocence  in  me,  perhaps  10 

Might  have  been  craft,  the  cunning  of  a  boy 
Hardened  in  lies  and  theft :  yet  ventured  you 
To  part  my  miseries  and  me  ;  for  which, 
I  never  can  expect  to  serve  a  lady 
That  bears  more  honour  in  her  breast  than  you. 

Phi.  But,  boy,  it  will  prefer  thee.     Thou  art  young. 
And  bear'st  a  childish  overflowing  love 
To  them  that  clap  thy  cheeks  and  speak  thee  fair  yet ; 
But  when  thy  judgment  comes  to  rule  those  passions, 
Thou  wilt  remember  best  those  careful  friends  20 

That  placed  thee  in  the  noblest  way  of  life. 
She  is  a  princess  I  prefer  thee  to. 

Bel.  In  that  small  time  that  I  have  seen  the  world, 
I  never  knew  a  man  hasty  to  part  with 
A  servant  he  thought  trusty  :  I  remember. 
My  father  would  prefer  the  boys  he  kept 
To  greater  men  than  he ;  but  did  it  not 
Till  they  were  grown  too  saucy  for  himself. 

Phi.  Why,  gentle  boy,  I  find  no  fault  at  all 
In  thy  behaviour.  30 

Bel.  Sir,  if  I  have  made 
A  fault  in  ignorance,  instruct  my  youth  : 
I  shall  be  wilHng,  if  not  apt,  to  learn ; 
Age  and  experience  will  adorn  my  mind 

1  Construe. 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  285 

With  larger  knowledge  ;  and  if  I  have  done 

A  wilful  fault,  think  me  not  past  all  hope^ 

For  once.     What  master  holds  so  strict  a  hand 

Over  his  boy,  that  he  will  part  with  him 

Without  one  warning?     Let  me  be  corrected,  v> 

To  break  my  stubbornness,  if  it  be  so,  40 

Rather  than  turn  me  off;  and  I  shall  mend. 

Phi.  Thy  love  doth  plead  so  prettily  to  stay. 
That,  trust  me,  I  could  weep  to  part  with  thee. 
Alas,  I  do  not  turn  thee  off !  thou  know'st 
It  is  my  business  that  doth  call  thee  hence  ; 
And  when  thou  art  with  her,  thou  dwell'st  with  me. 
Think  so,  and  'tis  so  :  and  when  time  is  full. 
That  thou  hast  well  discharged  this  heavy  trust. 
Laid  on  so  weak  a  one,  I  will  again 

With  joy  receive  thee  ;  as  I  live,  I  will !  50 

Nay,  weep  not,  gentle  boy.     'Tis  more  than  time 
Thou  didst  attend  the  princess. 

Bel.  I  am  gone. 
But  since  I  am  to  part  with  you,  my  lord, 
And  none  knows  whether  I  shall  live  to  do 
More  service  for  you,  take  this  little  prayer : 
Heaven  bless  your  loves,  your  fights,  all  your  designs  ! 
May  sick  men,  if  they  have  your  wish,  be  well ; 
And  Heaven  hate  those  you  curse,  though  I  be  one  ! 

\^Exit. 

Phi.  The  love  of  boys  unto  their  lords  is  strange  ;  60 

I  have  read  wonders  of  it :  yet  this  boy 
For  my  sake  (if  a  man  may  judge  by  looks 
And  speech)  would  out-do  story.     I  may  see 
A  day  to  pay  him  for  his  loyalty.  \Exit 


286  PHILASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Scene  II.  —  A  Gallery  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Pharamond. 

Pha.  Why  should  these  ladies  stay  so  long?  They  must 
come  this  way :  I  know  the  queen  employs  'em  not ;  for 
the  reverend  mother  sent  me  word,  they  would  all  be  for  the 
garden.  If  they  should  all  prove  honest  ^  now,  I  were  in  a 
fair  taking ;  I  was  never  so  long  without  sport  in  my  life, 
and,  in  my  conscience,  'tis  not  my  fault.  Oh,  for  our  coun- 
try ladies  ! 

Enter  Galatea. 

{Aside)   Here's  one  bolted ;  I'll  hound  at  her.     Madam  ! 

Gal.  Your  grace  ! 

Pha.  Shall  I  not  be  a  trouble?  lo 

Gal.  Not  to  me,  sir. 

Pha.  Nay,  nay,  you  are  too  quick.    By  this  sweet  hand  — 

Gal.  You'll  be  forsworn,  sir;  'tis  but  an  old  glove.  If 
you  will  talk  at  distance,  I  am  for  you  :  but,  good  prince, 
be  not  ribald,  nor  do  not  brag ;  these  two  I  bar ;  and  then, 
I  think,  I  shall  have  sense  enough  to  answer  all  the  weighty 
apophthegms  your  royal  blood  shall  manage. 

Pha.  Dear  lady,  can  you  love  ?  i8 

Gal.  Dear  prince  !  how  dear?  I  ne'er  cost  you  a  coach 
yet,  nor  put  you  to  the  dear  repentance  of  a  banquet. 
Here's  no  scarlet,  sir,  to  blush  the  sin  out  it  was  given  for. 
This  wire  ^  mine  own  hair  covers ;  and  this  face  has  been  so 
far  from  being  dear  to  any,  that  it  ne'er  cost  penny  painting ; 
and,  for  the  rest  of  my  poor  wardrobe,  such  as  you  see,  it 
leaves  no  handle  behind  it,  to  make  the  jealous  mercer's 
wife  curse  our  good  doings. 

1  Chaste.  ^  Women  then  used  wire  frames  in  their  head-dresses. 


SCENE  II.J  PHILASTER.  287 

Pha.  You  mistake  me,  lady. 

Gal.  Lord,  I  do  so  :  would  you  or  I  could  help  it ! 

Pha.  You're  very  dangerous  bitter,  like  a  potion. 

Gal.  No,  sir,  I  do  not  mean  to  purge  you,  though  30 

I  mean  to  purge  a  little  time  on  you. 

Pha.  Do  ladies  of  this  country  use  to  give 
No  more  respect  to  men  of  my  full  being? 

Gal.  Full  being  !  I  understand  you  not,  unless  your  grace 
means  growing  to  fatness  ;  and  then  your  only  remedy  (upon 
my  knowledge,  prince)  is,  in  a  morning,  a  cup  of  neat  white 
wine  brewed  with  carduus,^  then  fast  till  supper ;  about  eight 
you  may  eat ;  use  exercise,  and  keep  a  sparrow-hawk  ;  you  can 
shoot  in  a  tiller  ^ :  but,  of  all,  your  grace  must  fly  phlebotomy,^ 
fresh  pork,  conger,  and  clarified  whey  ;  they  are  all  duUers  of 
the  vital  spirits.  41 

Pha.  Lady,  you  talk  of  nothing  all  this  while. 

Gal.  'Tis  very  true,  sir ;  I  talk  of  you. 

Pha.  {aside).  This  is  a  crafty  wench ;  I  like  her  wit  well ; 
*twill  be  rare  to  stir  up  a  leaden  appetite  :  she's  a  Danae, 
and  must  be  courted  in  a  shower  of  gold.  —  Madam,  look 
here ;  all  these,  and  more  than 

Gal.  What  have  you  there,  my  lord  ?  gold  !  now,  as  I 
live,  'tis  fair  gold  !  You  would  have  silver  for  it,  to  play  with 
the  pages  :  you  could  not  have  taken  me  in  a  worse  time ; 
but,  if  you  have  present  use,  my  lord,  I'll  send  my  man  with 
silver  and  keep  your  gold  for  you.  \Takes  gold,       52 

Pha.  Lady,  lady  ! 

Gal.  She's  coming,  sir,  behind,  will  take  white  money.'*  — 
(Aside)  Yet  for  all  this  I'll  match  ye. 

\_Exit  behind  the  hangings. 

I  Thistle.  8  Blood-letting. 

*  The  handle  of  3.  cro§s-bow,  •*  Cant  term  for  silver  money. 


288  PHILASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Pha.  If  there  be  but  two  such  more  in  this  kingdom,  and 
near  the  court,  we  may  even  hang  up  our  harps.  Ten  such 
camphire  constitutions^  as  this  would  call  the  golden  age 
again  in  question ;  and  what  a  mischief  that  would  breed, 
let  all  consider  !  60 

Enter  Megra. 

i^Aside)  Here's  another :    if  she  be  of  the   same  last,  the 
devil  shall  pluck  her  on.  —  Many  fair  mornings,  lady. 

Meg.  As  many  mornings  bring  as  many  days. 
Fair,  sweet  and  hopeful  to  your  grace  ! 

Fha.   {aside) .  She  gives  good  words  yet ;  sure  this  wench 
is  free.  — 
If  your  more  serious  business  do  not  call  you. 
Let  me  hold  quarter  with  you ;  we  will  talk 
An  hour  out  quickly. 

Meg.  What  would  your  grace  talk  of? 

Pha.  Of  some  such  pretty  subject  as  yourself:  70 

I'll  go  no  further  than  your  eye,  or  lip ; 
There's  theme  enough  for  one  man  for  an  age. 

Meg.  Sir,  they  stand  right,  and  my  lips  are  yet  even. 
Smooth,  young  enough,  ripe  enough,  and  red  enough. 
Or  my  glass  wrongs  me. 

Pha.  Oh,  they  are  two  twinned  cherries  dyed  in  blushes, 
Which  those  fair  suns  above  with  their  bright  beams 
Reflect  upon  and  ripen.     Sweetest  beauty. 
Bow  down  those  branches,  that  the  longing  taste 
Of  the  faint  looker-on  may  meet  those  blessings,  80 

And  taste  and  live. 

Meg.  Oh,  delicate  sweet  prince  !  — 
{Aside)   She  that  hath  snow  enough  about  her  heart 

1  Cold-blooded. 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  289 

To  take  the  wanton  spring  of  ten  such  lines  off, 
May  be  a  nun  without  probation.  —  Sir, 
You  have  in  such  neat  poetry  gathered  a  kiss, 
That  if  I  had  but  five  hues  of  that  number, 
Such  pretty  begging  blanks,  I  should  commend 
Your  forehead  or  your  cheeks,  and  kiss  you  too. 

Pha.  Do  it  in  prose  ;  you  cannot  miss  it,  madam.  90 

Meg.  I  shall,  I  shall. 

Pha.  By  my  Ufe,  but  you  shall  not ; 
I'll  prompt  you  first.  {Kisses  her.)  Can  you  do  it  now? 

Meg.  Methinks  'tis  easy,  now  you  ha'  done't  before  me ; 
But  yet  I  should  stick  at  it. 

Pha.  Stick  till  to-morrow ; 
I'll  never  part  you,  sweetest.     But  we  lose  time  : 
Can  you  love  me  ? 

Meg.  Love  you,  my  lord  !  how  would  you  have  me  love 
you  ?  99 

Pha.  I'll  teach  you  in  a  short  sentence,  'cause  I  will  not 
load  your  memory  :  this  is  all ;  love  me,  and  go  with  me. 

Meg.  'Tis  impossible. 

Pha.  Not  to  a  willing  mind,  that  will  endeavour. 

Meg.  Why,  prince,  you  have  a  lady  of  your  own 
That  yet  wants  teaching. 

I^a.  I'll  sooner  teach  a  mare  the  old    measures,^  than 
teach  her. 

Meg.  By  my  honour,  that's  a  foul  fault,  indeed ; 
But  time  and  your  good  help  will  wear  it  out,  sir. 
Has  your  grace  seen  the  court-star,  Galatea?  no 

Pha.  Out  upon  her  !  she's  as  cold  of  her  favour  as  an 
apoplex  :  she  sailed  by  but  now. 

Meg.  And  how  do  you  hold  her  wit,  sir? 
1  Stately  dances. 


290  PHIL  ASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Pha.  I  hold  her  wit?  The  strength  of  all  the  guard 
cannot  hold  it,  if  they  were  tied  to  it ;  she  would  blow  'em 
out  of  the  kingdom.  They  talk  of  Jupiter;  he's  but  a 
squib-cracker  to  her :  look  well  about  you,  and  you  may 
find  a  tongue-bolt.  But  speak,  sweet  lady,  shall  I  be  freely 
welcome  ? 

Meg.  Whither?  120 

Pha.  To  your  room.  If  you  mistrust  my  faith,  you  do  me 
the  unnoblest  wrong. 

Meg.  I  dare  not,  prince,  I  dare  not. 

Pha.  Make   your   own   conditions,  my  purse    shall   seal 
*em ;  and  what  you  dare  imagine  you  can  want,  I'll  furnish 
you  withal :  give  two  hours  to  your  thoughts  every  morning 
about  it.     Come,  I  know  you  are  bashful ; 
Speak  in  my  ear,  will  you  be  mine  ?     Keep  this, 
And  with  it  me  :  soon  I  will  visit  you.        [  Gives  her  a  ring, 

Meg.  My  lord,  130 

My  chamber's  most  unsafe ;  but  when  'tis  night, 
I'll  find  some  means  to  slip  into  your  lodging ; 
Till  when 

Pha.  Till  when,  this  and  my  heart  go  with  thee  ! 

\_Exeunt  severally. 

Re-enter  Galatea. 

Gal.  Oh,  thou  pernicious  petticoat  prince  !  are  these 
your  virtues?  Well,  if  I  do  not  lay  a  train  to  blow  your 
sport  up,  I  am  no  woman :  and.  Lady  Towsabel,  I'll  fit 
you  for't.  l^Exit. 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  291 

Scene  III.  —  Arethusa's  Apartment  in  the  Palace, 

Enter  Arethusa  and  a  Lady. 

Are.  Where's  the  boy? 
Lady,  Within,  madam. 

Are,  Gave  you  him  gold  to  buy  him  clothes  ? 
Lady.  I  did. 
Are,  And  has  he  done't? 
Lady,  Yes,  madam. 

Are,  'Tis  a  pretty  sad-talking  boy,  is  it  not  ? 
Asked  you  his  name? 
Lady.  No,  madam. 

Enter  Galatea, 

Are.  Oh,  you  are  welcome.  .  What  good  news  ?  lo 

Gal.  As  good  as  any  one  can  tell  your  grace, 
That  says,  she  has  done  that  you  would  have  wished. 

Are.  Hast  thou  discovered  ? 

Gal,  I  have  strained  a  point 
Of  modesty  for  you. 

Are.  I  prithee,  how? 

Gal.  In  listening  after  scandal.  I  see,  let  a  lady  live  never 
so  modestly,  she  shall  be  sure  to  find  a  lawful  time  to  hearken 
after  scandal.  Your  prince,  brave  Pharamond,  was  so  hot 
on't !  20 

Are.  With  whom? 

Gal.  Why,  with  the  lady  I  suspected : 
I  can  tell  the  time  and  place. 

Are,  Oh,  when,  and  where? 

Gal.  To-night,  his  lodging. 

Are.  Run  thyself  into  the  presence ;  mingle  there  again 


2^2  PHILASTER.  [act  ii. 

With  Other  ladies  ;  leave  the  rest  to  me.        \_Exit  Galatea. 
{Aside)   If  destiny  (to  whom  we  dare  not  say, 
"Why  didst  thou  this?  ")  have  not  decreed  it  so, 
In  lasting  leaves  (whose  smallest  characters  30 

Were  never  altered  yet),  this  match  shall  break. 
Where's  the  boy? 
Zady.  Here,  madam. 

Enter  Bellario,  richly  dressed. 

Are.  Sir, 
You  are  sad  to  change  your  service  ;  is't  not  so  ? 

Bel.  Madam,  I  have  not  changed ;  I  wait  on  you. 
To  do  him  service. 

Are.  Thou  disclaim'st  ^  in  me. 
Tell  me  thy  name. 

Bel.  Bellario.  40 

Are.  Thou  canst  sing  and  play? 

Bel.  If  grief  will  give  me  leave,  madam,  I  can. 

Are.  Alas,  what  kind  of  grief  can  thy  years  know  ? 
Hadst  thou  a  curst  ^  master  when  thou  went'st  to  school  ? 
Thou  art  not  capable  of  other  grief. 
Thy  brows  and  cheeks  are  smooth  as  waters  be 
When  no  breath  troubles  them  :  beHeve  me,  boy, 
Care  seeks  out  wrinkled  brows  and  hollow  eyes. 
And  builds  himself  caves,  to  abide  in  them. 
Come,  sir,  tell  me  truly,  does  your  lord  love  me  ?  50 

Bel.  Love,  madam  !    I  know  not  what  it  is. 

Are.  Canst  thou  know  grief,  and  never  yet  knew'st  love  ? 
Thou  art  deceived,  boy.     Does  he  speak  of  me 
As  if  he  wished  me  well  ? 

Bel  If  it  be  love 

1  Renounce  any  claim  in.  2  Cross. 


SCENE  I  V.J  PHILASTER.  293 

To  forget  all  respect  of  his  own  friends 

In  thinking  of  your  face ;  if  it  be  love 

To  sit  crossed-armed  and  sigh  away  the  day, 

Mingled  with  starts,  crying  your  name  as  loud 

And  hastily  as  men  i'  the  streets  do  fire ;  60 

If  it  be  love  to  weep  himself  away 

When  he  but  hears  of  any  lady  dead 

Or  killed,  because  it  might  have  been  your  chance ; 

If,  when  he  goes  to  rest  (which  will  not  be), 

'Twixt  every  prayer  he  says,  to  name  you  once, 

As  others  drop  a  bead,  be  to  be  in  love. 

Then,  madam,  I  dare  swear  he  loves  you. 

Are.  Oh,  you're  a  cunning  boy,  and  taught  to  lie 
For  your  lord's  credit !   but  thou  know'st  a  He 
That  bears  this  sound  is  welcomer  to  me  70 

Than  any  truth  that  says  he  loves  me  not. 
Lead  the  way,  boy.  —  Do  you  attend  me  too.  — 
'Tis  thy  lord's  business  hastes  me  thus.     Away  !       {^Exeunt. 


Scene   IV.  —  Before  Pharamond's  Lodging  in  the  Court  of 
the  Palace. 

Efiter  Dion,  Cleremont,  Thrasiline,  Megra,  and  Galatea. 

Dion.  Come,  ladies,  shall  we  talk  a  round  ?     As  men 
Do  walk  a  mile,  women  should  talk  an  hour 
After  supper  :  'tis  their  exercise. 

Gal.  'Tis  late. 

Meg.  'Tis  all 
My  eyes  will  do  to  lead  me  to  my  bed. 

Gal.  I  fear,  they  are  so  heavy,  you'll  scarce  find 
The  way  to  your  own  lodging  with  'em  to-night. 


294  PHILASTER.  [ACT  ir. 

Enter  Pharamond. 

Thra.  The  prince  ! 

Pha,  Not  a-bed,  ladies  ?  you're  good  sitters-up  :  lo 

What  think  you  of  a  pleasant  dream,  to  last 
Till  morning? 

Meg.  I  should  choose,  my  lord,  a  pleasing  wake  before  it. 

Enter  Arethusa  and  Bellario. 

Are.  'Tis  well,  my  lord  ;  you're  courting  of  these  ladies. — 
Is't  not  late,  gentlemen  ? 

Cle.  Yes,  madam. 

Are.  Wait  you  there.  \Exit. 

Meg.  {aside).  She's  jealous,  as  I  live.     Look  you  on,  my 
lord. 
The  princess  has  a  Hylas,^  an  Adonis.  20 

Pha.  His  form  is  angel-like. 

Meg.  Why,  this  is  he  that  must,  when  you  are  wed, 
Sit  by  your  pillow,  like  young  Apollo,  with 
His  hand  and  voice  binding  your  thoughts  in  sleep ; 
The  princess  does  provide  him  for  you  and  for  herself. 

Pha.  I  find  no  music  in  these  boys. 

Meg.  Nor  I : 
They  can  do  Httle,  and  that  small  they  do. 
They  have  not  wit  to  hide. 

Dion,  Serves  he  the  princess?  30 

Thra.  Yes. 

Dion.  'Tis  a  sweet  boy  :  how  brave  ^  she  keeps  him  ! 

Pha.  Ladies  all,  good  rest ;  I  mean  to  kill  a  buck 
To-morrow  morning,  ere  you've  done  your  dreams. 

1  A  beautiful  youth,  beloved  by  Hercules,  whom  he  accompanied  on  the 
Argonautic  expedition. 

2  Finely  dressed. 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  295 

Meg.  All  happiness  attend  your  grace  !       {Exit  Phara- 
MOND.)  Gentlemen,  good  rest.  —  Come,  shall  we  go  to  bed? 

GaL  Yes.  —  All  good  night. 

Dion.  May  your  dreams  be  true  to  you  !  — 

\_Exeunt  Galatea  and  Megra. 
What  shall  we  do,  gallants?  'tis  late.     The  King 
Is  up  still :  see,  he  comes  ;  a  guard  along  with  him.  40 

Enter  King  with  Arethusa,  Guards  and  Attendants. 

King.  Look  your  intelligence  be  true. 

Are.  Upon  my  life,  it  is  :  and  I  do  hope 
Your  highness  will  not  tie  me  to  a  man 
That  in  the  heat  of  wooing  throws  me  off, 
And  takes  another. 

Dion.  What  should  this  mean? 

King.  If  it  be  true. 
That  lady  had  better  have  embraced 
Cureless  diseases.     Get  you  to  your  rest : 
You  shall  be  righted.   [^Exeunt  Arethusa  and  Bellario.     50 

—  Gentlemen,  draw  near ; 
We  shall  employ  you.     Is  young  Pharamond 
Come  to  his  lodging? 

Dion.  I  saw  him  enter  there. 

King.  Haste,  some  of  you,  and  cunningly  discover 
If  Megra  be  in  her  lodging.  \_Exit. 

Cle.  Sir, 
She  parted  hence  but  now,  with  other  ladies. 

King.  If  she  be  there,  we  shall  not  need  to  make 
A  vain  discovery  of  our  suspicion.  60 

{Aside)  You  gods,  I  see  that  who  unrighteously 
Holds  wealth  or  state  from  others  shall  be  cursed 
In  that  which  meaner  men  are  blest  withal : 


296  PHILASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Ages  to  come  shall  know  no  male  of  him 

Left  to  inherit,  and  his  name  shall  be 

Blotted  from  earth  ;  if  he  have  any  child, 

It  shall  be  crossly  matched ;  the  gods  themselves 

Shall  sow  wild  strife  betwixt  her  lord  and  her. 

Yet,  if  it  be  your  wills,  forgive  the  sin 

I  have  committed ;  let  it  not  fall  70 

Upon  this  under-standing  child  of  mine  ! 

She  has  not  broke  your  laws.     But  how  can  I 

Look  to  be  heard  of  gods  that  must  be  just, 

Praying  upon  the  ground  I  hold  by  wrong? 

Re-enter  Dion. 

Dion.  Sir,  I  have  asked,  and  her  women  swear  she  is 
within ;  but  they,  I  think,  are  wicked.  I  told  'em,  I  must 
speak  with  her  ;  they  laughed,  and  said,  their  lady  lay  speech- 
less. I  said,  my  business  was  important ;  they  said,  their 
lady  was  about  it.  I  grew  hot,  and  cried,  my  business  was 
a  matter  that  concerned  life  and  death ;  they  answered,  so 
was  sleeping,  at  which  their  lady  was.  I  urged  again,  she 
had  scarce  time  to  be  so  since  last  I  saw  her :  they  smiled 
again,  and  seemed  to  instruct  me  that  sleeping  was  nothing 
but  lying  down  and  winking.  Answers  more  direct  I  could 
not  get :  in  short,  sir,  I  think  she  is  not  there. 

King.  'Tis  then  no  time  to  dally.  —  You  o'  the  guard, 
Wait  at  the  back  door  of  the  prince's  lodging, 
And  see  that  none  pass  thence,  upon  your  lives.  — 

\_Exeunt  Guards. 
Knock,  gentlemen  ;  knock  loud  ;  louder  yet. 
What,  has  their  pleasure  taken  off  their  hearing  ?  —  90 

I'll  break  your  meditations.  —  Knock  again.  — 
Not  yet  ?     I  do  not  think  he  sleeps,  having  this 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  297 

'Larum  by  him.  —  Once  more.  —  Pharamond  !  prince  ! 

[Pharamond  appears  at  a  window. 

Pha.  What  saucy  groom  knocks  at  this  dead  of  night  ? 
Where  be  our  waiters  ?     By  my  vexed  soul, 
He  meets  his  death  that  meets  me,  for  this  boldness. 

King.  Prince,  prince,  you  wrong  your  thoughts  \  we  are 
your  friends : 
Come  down. 

Pha.  The  King  !  100 

King.  The  same,  sir.     Come  down,  sir  : 
We  have  cause  of  present  counsel  with  you. 

Enter  Pharamond  below. 

Pha.  If  your  grace  please 
To  use  me,  I'll  attend  you  to  your  chamber. 

King.  No,  'tis  too  late,  prince  ;  I'll  make  bold  with  yours. 

Pha.  I  have  some  private  reasons  to  myself 
Make  me  unmannerly,  and  say  you  cannot. — 
Nay,  press  not  forward,  gentlemen ;  he  must 
Come  through  my  life  that  comes  here. 

King.  Sir,  be  resolved  ^  I  must  and  will  come.  —  Enter. 

Pha.  I  will  not  be  dishonoured  :  m 

He  that  enters,  enters  upon  his  death. 
Sir,  'tis  a  sign  you  make  no  stranger  of  me, 
To  bring  these  renegadoes  to  my  chamber 
At  these  unseasoned  hours. 

King.  Why  do  you 
Chafe  yourself  so  ?  you  are  not  wronged  nor  shall  be  ; 
Only  I'll  search  your  lodging,  for  some  cause 
To  ourself  known.  —  Enter,  I  say. 

Pha.  I  say,  no.  [Megra  appears  at  a  window. 

1  Persuaded. 


298  PHILASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Meg.  Let  'em  enter,  prince,  let  'em  enter ;  121 

I  know  their  business ; 
'Tis  the  poor  breaking  of  a  lady's  honour 
They  hunt  so  hotly  after ;  let  'em  enjoy  it.  — 
You  have  your  business,  gentlemen ;  I  was  here.  — 
Oh,  my  lord  the  King,  this  is  not  noble  in  you 
To  make  public  the  weakness  of  a  woman  ! 

King.  Come  down. 

Meg.  I  dare,  my  lord.    Your  hootings  and  your  clamours, 
Your  private  whispers  and  your  broad  fleerings,  130 

Can  no  more  vex  my  soul  than  this  base  carriage : 
But  I  have  vengeance  yet  in  store  for  some 
Shall,  in  the  most  contempt  you  can  have  of  me, 
Be  joy  and  nourishment. 

King.  Will  you  come  down  ? 

Meg.  Yes,  to  laugh  at  your  worst ;  but  I  shall  wring  you. 
If  my  skill  fail  me  not.  \_Exil  above. 

King.  Sir,  I  must  dearly  chide  you  for  this  looseness ; 
You  have  wronged  a  worthy  lady  :  but,  no  more.  — 
Conduct  him  to  my  lodging  and  to  bed.  140 

[Exeunt  Pharamond  attd  Attendants. 

Enter  Megra  below. 

King.  Now,  lady  of  honour,  where's  your  honour  now? 
No  man  can  fit  your  palate  but  the  prince  : 
Thou  most  ill-shrouded  rottenness,  thou  piece 
Made  by  a  painter  and  a  'pothecary, 
Thou  troubled  sea  of  lust,  thou  wilderness 
Inhabited  by  wild  thoughts,  thou  swoln  cloud 
Of  infection,  thou  ripe  mine  of  all  diseases, 
Thou  all-sin,  all-hell,  and  last,  all-devils,  tell  me, 
Had  you  none  to  pull  on  with  your  courtesies 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  299 

But  he  that  must  be  mine,  and  wrong  my  daughter?  150 

By  all  the  gods  !  all  these,  and  all  the  pages, 

And  all  the  court,  shall  hoot  thee  through  the  court, 

Fling  rotten  oranges,  make  ribald  rhymes. 

And  sear  thy  name  with  candles  upon  walls  ! 

Do  you  laugh,  Lady  Venus  ? 

Meg.  Faith,  sir,  you  must  pardon  me ; 
I  cannot  choose  but  laugh  to  see  you  merry. 
If  you  do  this,  O  King  !  nay,  if  you  dare  do  it, 
By  all  those  gods  you  swore  by,  and  as  many 
More  of  mine  own,  I  will  have  fellows,  and  such  160 

Fellows  in  it,  as  shall  make  noble  mirth  ! 
The  princess,  your  dear  daughter,  shall  stand  by  me 
On  walls,  and  sung  in  ballads,  any  thing  : 
Urge  me  no  more ;  I  know  her  and  her  haunts. 
Her  lays,  leaps,  and  outlays,  and  will  discover  all ; 
Nay,  will  dishonour  her.     I  know  the  boy 
She  keeps  ;  a  handsome  boy,  about  eighteen ; 
Know  what  she  does  with  him,  where,  and  when. 
Come,  sir,  you  put  me  to  a  woman's  madness. 
The  glory  of  a  fury ;  and  if  I  do  not  170 

Do't  to  the  height 

King.  What  boy  is  this  she  raves  at  ? 

Meg.  Alas  !    good-minded   prince,   you    know  not   these 
things  ! 
I  am  loath  to  reveal  'em.     Keep  this  fault. 
As  you  would  keep  your  health,  from  the  hot  air 
Of  the  corrupted  people,  or,  by  Heaven, 
I  will  not  fall  alone.     What  I  have  known 
Shall  be  as  public  as  a  print ;  all  tongues 
Shall  speak  it  as  they  do  the  language  they 
Are  born  in,  as  free  and  commonly ;  I'll  set  it,  j8o 


300  PHILASTER.  [ACT  II. 

Like  a  prodigious  star,  for  all  to  gaze  at, 

And  so  high  and  glowing,  that  other  kingdoms  far  and  foreign 

Shall  read  it  there,  nay,  travel  with  't,  till  they  find 

No  tongue  to  make  it  more,  nor  no  more  people ; 

And  then  behold  the  fall  of  your  fair  princess  !  ^ 

King.  Has  she  a  boy? 

Cle.  So  please  your  grace,  I  have  seen  a  boy  wait  on  her, 
A  fair  boy. 

King.  Go,  get  you  to  your  quarter  : 
For  this  time  I  will  study  to  forget  you.  190 

Meg.  Do  you  study  to  forget  me,  and  I'll  study 
To  forget  you.  \_Exeunt  King  and  Megra,  severally. 

Cle.  Why,  here's  a  male  spirit  fit  for  Hercules.  If  ever 
there  be  Nine  Worthies  of  women,  this  wench  shall  ride 
astride  and  be  their  captain. 

Dio7i.  Sure,  she  has  a  garrison  of  devils  in  her  tongue,  she 
uttereth  such  balls  of  wild-fire  :  she  has  so  nettled  the  King, 
that  all  the  doctors  in  the  country  will  scarce  cure  him. 
That  boy  was  a  strange -found -out  antidote  to  cure  her  infec- 
tion ;  that  boy,  that  princess'  boy ;  that  brave,  chaste,  vir- 
tuous lady's  boy ;  and  a  fair  boy,  a  well-spoken  boy  !  All 
these  considered,  can  make  nothing  else  —  but  there  I  leave 
you,  gentlemen.  203 

Thra.  Nay,  we'll  go  wander  with  you.  \Exeunt. 

1  "  This  passage  is  one  of  those  instances  of  a  magnificent  idea  spoiled  by 
mislocation,  which  are  too  often  found  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  And 
observe  the  consequent  anti-climax,  A  bad  woman  is  threatening  a  father 
with  defamation  of  his  child ;  and  she  raises  a  phenomenon  in  the  heavens 
which  of  itself  is  truly  grand  and  awful,  a  spectacle  for  a  world,  in  order  to 
represent  what  at  the  utmost  could  be  nothing  but  a  scandal  confined  to  a 
particular  country.  A  comet  leads  kingdoms  forth  to  travel  by  its  light,  in 
order  to  arrive  at  nothing  greater  than  the  fall  of  a  princess,  by  a  lie  about 
a  boy."  —  Leigh  Hunt. 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  301 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.  —  The   Court  of  the  Palace. 

Enter  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Cle.  Nay,  doubtless,  'tis  true. 

Dion.  Ay ;  and  'tis  the  gods 
That  raised  this  punishment,  to  scourge  the  King 
With  his  own  issue.     Is  it  not  a  shame 
For  us  that  should  write  noble  in  the  land. 
For  us  that  should  be  freemen,  to  behold 
A  man  that  is  the  bravery  of  his  age, 
Philaster,  pressed  down  from  his  royal  right 
By  this  regardless  King  ?  and  only  look 
And  see  the  sceptre  ready  to  be  cast 
Into  the  hands  of  that  lascivious  lady 
That  dotes  on  that  smooth  boy,  now  to  be  married 
To  yon  strange  prince,  who,  but  that  people  please 
To  let  him  be  a  prince,  is  born  a  slave 
In  that  which  should  be  his  most  noble  part. 
His  mind? 

Thra.  That  man  that  would  not  stir  with  you 
To  aid  Philaster,  let  the  gods  forget 
That  such  a  creature  walks  upon  the  earth  ! 

Cle.  Philaster  is  too  backward  in't  himself. 
The  gentry  do  await  it,  and  the  people, 
Against  their  nature,  are  all  bent  for  him. 
And  like  a  field  of  standing  corn,  that's  moved 
With  a  stiff  gale,  their  heads  bow  all  one  way. 


302  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III. 

Dion.  The  only  cause  that  draws  Philaster  back 
From  this  attempt  is  the  fair  princess'  love, 
Which  he  admires,  and  we  can  now  confute. 

Thra.  Perhaps  he'll  not  believe  it. 

Dion.  Why,  gentlemen, 
'Tis  without  question  so.  30 

Cle.  Ay,  'tis  past  speech. 
She  lives  dishonestly  :  but  how  shall  we. 
If  he  be  curious,^  work  upon  his  faith  ? 

Thra.  We  are  all  satisfied  within  ourselves. 

Dion.  Since  it  is  true,  and  tends  to  his  own  good, 
I'll  make  this  new  report  to  be  my  knowledge ; 
I'll  say  I  know  it ;  nay,  I'll  swear  I  saw  it. 

Cle.  It  will  be  best. 

Thra.  'Twill  move  him. 

Dion.  Here  he  comes.  40 

Enter  Philaster. 

Good  morrow  to  your  honour  :  we  have  spent 
Some  time  in  seeking  you. 

Phi.  My  worthy  friends, 
You  that  can  keep  your  memories  to  know 
Your  friend  in  miseries,  and  cannot  frown 
On  men  disgraced  for  virtue,  a  good  day 
Attend  you  all !     What  service  may  I  do 
Worthy  your  acceptation? 

Dion.  My  good  lord. 
We  come  to  urge  that  virtue,  which  we  know  50 

Lives  in  your  breast,  forth.     Rise,  and  make  a  head  : 
The  nobles  and  the  people  are  all  dulled 
With  this  usurping  King ;  and  not  a  man, 

1  Scrupulous, 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  303 

That  ever  heard  the  word,  or  knew  such  a  thing 
As  virtue,  but  will  second  your  attempts. 

Phi.  How  honourable  is  this  love  in  you 
To  me  that  have  deserved  none  !     Know,  my  friends, 
(You,  that  were  born  to  shame  your  poor  Philaster 
With  too  much  courtesy,)  I  could  afford 
To  melt  myself  in  thanks  :  but  my  designs  60 

Are  not  yet  ripe  :  suffice  it,  that  ere  long 
I  shall  employ  your  loves  ;  but  yet  the  time 
Is  short  of  what  I  would. 

Dion,  The  time  is  fuller,  sir,  than  you  expect ; 
That  which  hereafter  will  not,  perhaps,  be  reached 
By  violence  may  now  be  caught.     As  for  the  King, 
You  know  the  people  have  long  hated  him ; 
But  now  the  princess,  whom  they  loved 

Phi.  Why,  what  of  her  ? 

Dion.  Is  loathed  as  much  as  he.  70 

Phi.  By  what  strange  means  ? 

Dion.  She's  known  unchaste. 

Phi.  Thou  liest. 

Dion.  My  lord 

Phi.  Thou  liest, 

\^Offers  to  draw  his  sword :  they  hold  him. 
And  thou  shalt  feel  it !     I  had  thought  thy  mind 
Had  been  of  honour.     Thus  to  rob  a  lady 
Of  her  good  name,  is  an  infectious  sin 
Not  to  be  pardoned  :  be  it  false  as  hell, 
'Twill  never  be  redeemed,  if  it  be  sown  80 

Amongst  the  people,  fruitful  to  increase 
All  evil  they  shall  hear.     Let  me  alone 
That  I  may  cut  oft  falsehood  whilst  it  springs  ! 
Set  hills  on  hills  betwixt  me  and  the  man 


304  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III. 

That  utters  this,  and  I  will  scale  them  all, 
And  from  the  utmost  top  fall  on  his  neck, 
Like  thunder  from  a  cloud. 

Dion.  This  is  most  strange  : 
Sure,  he  does  love  her. 

Phi.  I  do  love  fair  truth  :  90 

She  is  my  mistress,  and  who  injures  her 
Draws  vengeance  from  me.     Sirs,  let  go  my  arms. 

Thra.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  patient. 

Cle.  Sir,  remember  this  is  your  honoured  friend. 
That  comes  to  do  his  service,  and  will  show  you 
Why  he  uttered  this. 

Phi.  I  ask  you  pardon,  sir ; 
My  zeal  to  truth  made  me  unmannerly : 
Should  I  have  heard  dishonour  spoke  of  you, 
Behind  your  back,  untruly,  I  had  been  100 

As  much  distempered  and  enraged  as  now. 

Dion.  But  this,  my  lord,  is  truth. 

Phi.  Oh,  say  not  so  ! 
Good  sir,  forbear  to  say  so ;  'tis  then  truth, 
That  all  womankind  is  false  :  urge  it  no  more ; 
It  is  impossible.     Why  should  you  think 
The  princess  light? 

Dion.  Why,  she  was  taken  at  it. 

Phi.  'Tis  false  !  by  Heaven,  'tis  false  !  it  cannot  be  ! 
Can  it?     Speak,  gendemen;  for  love  of  truth,  speak  !        no 
It's  possible?     Can  women  all  be  damned? 

Dion.  Why,  no,  my  lord. 

Phi.  Why,  then,  it  cannot  be. 

Dion.  And  she  was  taken  with  her  boy. 

Phi.  What  boy? 

Dion.  A  page,  a  boy  that  serves  her. 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  305 

Phi.  Oh,  good  gods  ! 
A  little  boy  ? 

Dion.  Ay ;  know  you  him  my  lord  ? 

Phi.  {aside).  Hell  and  sin   know  him!  — Sir,   you    are 
deceived ;  120 

You  are  abused,  and  so  is  she,  and  I. 

Dion.  How  you,  my  lord  ? 

Phi.  Why,  all  the  world's  abused 
In  an  unjust  report. 

Dion.  Oh,  noble  sir,  your  virtues 
Cannot  look  into  the  subtle  thoughts  of  woman  ! 
In  short,  my  lord,  I  took  them ;  I  myself. 

Phi.  Now,  all  the  devils,  thou  didst !     Fly  from  my  rage  ! 
Would  thou  hadst  ta'en  devils  engendering  plagues. 
When  thou  did'st  take  them  !    Hide  thee  from  my  eyes  !     130 
Would  thou  hadst  taken  thunder  on  thy  breast. 
When  thou  didst  take  them  ;  or  been  strucken  dumb 
For  ever ;  that  this  foul  deed  might  have  slept 
In  silence  ! 

Thra.  Have  you  known  him  so  ill-tempered  ? 

Cle.  Never  before. 

Phi.  The  winds,  that  are  let  loose 
From  the  four  several  corners  of  the  earth, 
And  spread  themselves  all  over  sea  and  land. 
Kiss  not  a  chaste  one.     What  friend  bears  a  sword  140 

To  run  me  through? 

Dion.  Why,  my  lord,  are  you 
So  moved  at  this  ? 

Phi.  When  any  fall  from  virtue, 
I  am  distract ;  I  have  an  interest  in't. 

Dion.  But,  good  my  lord,  recall  yourself,  and  think 
What's  best  to  be  done. 


306  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III 

Phi.  I  thank  you ;  I  will  do  it : 
Please  you  to  leave  me  ;  I'll  consider  of  it. 
To-morrow  I  will  find  your  lodging  forth,  150 

And  give  you  answer. 

Dion.  All  the  gods  direct  you 
The  readiest  way  ! 

Thra.  He  was  extreme  impatient. 

Cle.  It  was  his  virtue  and  his  noble  mind. 

\Exeiint  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Phi.  I  had  forgot  to  ask  him  where  he  took  them ; 
I'll  follow  him.     Oh,  that  I  had  a  sea 
Within  my  breast,  to  quench  the  fire  I  feel ! 
More  circumstances  will  but  fan  this  fire  : 
It  more  afflicts  me  now,  to  know  by  whom  160 

This  deed  is  done,  than  simply  that  'tis  done ; 
And  he  that  tells  me  this,  is  honourable, 
As  far  from  lies  as  she  is  far  from  truth. 
Oh,  that,  like  beasts,  we  could  not  grieve  ourselves 
With  that  we  see  not !     Bulls  and  rams  will  fight 
To  keep  their  females,  standing  in  their  sight ; 
But  take  'em  from  them,  and  you  take  at  once 
Their  spleens  away ;  and  they  will  fall  again 
Unto  their  pastures,  growing  fresh  and  fat ; 
And  taste  the  waters  of  the  springs  as  sweet  170 

As  'twas  before,  finding  no  start  in  sleep  : 
But  miserable  man 

Enter  Bellario. 

{Aside)   See,  see,  you  gods. 
He  walks  still ;  and  the  face  you  let  him  wear 
When  he  was  innocent  is  still  the  same. 
Not  blasted  1     Is  this  justice?  do  you  mean 


SCENE  i.J  PHILASTER.  307 

To  intrap  mortality,  that  you  allow 
Treason  so  smooth  a  brow  ?     I  cannot  now 
Think  he  is  guilty. 

Bel.  Health  to  you,  my  lord  ! 
The  princess  doth  commend  her  love,  her  life,  180 

And  this,  unto  you.  \_Gives  a  letter. 

Phi.  Oh,  Bellario, 
Now  I  perceive  she  loves  me  !  she  does  show  it 
In  loving  thee,  my  boy :  she  has  made  thee  brave. 

Bel.  My  lord,  she  has  attired  me  past  my  wish, 
Past  my  desert ;  more  fit  for  her  attendant. 
Though  far  unfit  for  me  who  do  attend. 

Phi.  Thou  art  grown  courtly,  boy.  —  Oh,  let  all  women, 
That  love  black  deeds,  learn  to  dissemble  here. 
Here,  by  this  paper  !     She  does  write  to  me  190 

As  if  her  heart  were  mines  of  adamant 
To  all  the  world  besides ;  but,  unto  me, 
A  maiden-snow  that  melted  with  my  looks.  — 
Tell  me,  my  boy,  how  doth  the  princess  use  thee  ? 
For  I  shall  guess  her  love  to  me  by  that. 

Bel.  Scarce  like  her  servant,  but  as  if  I  were 
Something  allied  to  her,  or  had  preserved 
Her  life  three  times  by  my  fidelity ; 
As  mothers  fond  do  use  their  only  sons. 
As  I'd  use  one  that's  left  unto  my  trust,  200 

For  whom  my  hfe  should  pay  if  he  met  harm, 
So  she  does  use  me. 

Phi.  Why,  this  is  wondrous  well : 
But  what  kind  language  does  she  feed  thee  with  ? 

Bel.  Why,  she  does  tell  me  she  will  trust  my  youth 
With  all  her  loving  secrets,  and  does  call  me 
Her  pretty  servant ;  bids  me  weep  no  more 


3o8  PHILASTER.  LACT  ill. 

For  leaving  you ;  she'll  see  my  services 

Regarded  :  and  such  words  of  that  soft  strain. 

That  I  am  nearer  weeping  when  she  ends  210 

Than  ere  she  spake. 

Phi.  This  is  much  better  still. 

Bel.  Are  you  not  ill,  my  lord  ? 

Phi.  111?  no,  Bellario. 

Bel.  Methinks  your  words 
Fall  not  from  off  your  tongue  so  evenly, 
Nor  is  there  in  your  looks  that  quietness 
That  I  was  wont  to  see. 

Phi.  Thou  art  deceived,  boy  : 
And  she  strokes  thy  head  ?  220 

Bel.  Yes. 

Phi.  And  she  does  clap  thy  cheeks? 

Bel.  She  does,  my  lord. 

Phi.  And  she  does  kiss  thee,  boy  ?  ha  ! 

Bel.  How,  my  lord? 

Phi.  She  kisses  thee? 

Bel.  Not  so,  my  lord. 

Phi.  Come,  come,  I  know  she  does. 

Bel.  No,  by  my  life. 

Phi.  Why  then  she  does  not  love  me.     Come,  she  does, 
I  bade  her  do  it ;  I  charged  her,  by  all  charms  231 

Of  love  between  us,  by  the  hope  of  peace 
We  should  enjoy,  to  yield  thee  all  delights. 
Tell  me,  gentle  boy, 

Is  she  not  parallelless  ?  is  not  her  breath 
Sweet  as  Arabian  winds  when  fruits  are  ripe  ? 
Are  not  her  breasts  two  liquid  ivory  balls  ? 
Is  she  not  all  a  lasting  mine  of  joy? 

Bel.  Ay,  now  I  see  why  my  disturbed  thoughts 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  309 

Were  so  perplexed  :  when  first  I  went  to  her,  240 

My  heart  held  augury.     You  are  abused ; 

Some  villain  has  abused  you  :  I  do  see 

Whereto  you  tend.     Fall  rocks  upon  his  head 

That  put  this  to  you  !  'tis  some  subtle  train 

To  bring  that  noble  frame  of  yours  to  nought. 

Phi.  Thou  think'st  I  will  be  angry  with  thee.     Come, 
Thou  shalt  know  all  my  drift :   I  hate  her  more 
Than  I  love  happiness,  and  placed  thee  there 
To  pry  with  narrow  eyes  into  her  deeds. 
Hast  thou  discovered?  is  she  fallen  to  lust,  250 

As  I  would  wish  her?     Speak  some  comfort  to  me. 

Bel.  My  lord,  you  did  mistake  the  boy  you'Sent : 
Had  she  the  lust  of  sparrows  or  of  goats, 
Had  she  a  sin  that  way,  hid  from  the  world. 
Beyond  the  name  of  lust,  I  would  not  aid 
Her  base  desires  :  but  what  I  came  to  know 
As  servant  to  her,  I  would  not  reveal, 
To  make  my  life  last  ages. 

Phi.  Oh,  my  heart ! 
This  is  a  salve  worse  than  the  main  disease.  260 

Tell  me  thy  thoughts ;  for  I  will  know  the  least 

[^Draws  his  swoi'd. 
That  dwells  within  thee,  or  will  rip  thy  heart 
To  know  it :  I  will  see  thy  thoughts  as  plain 
As  I  do  now  thy  face. 

Bel.  Why,  so  you  do. 
She  is  (for  aught  I  know)  by  all  the  gods,  [^Kneels. 

As  chaste  as  ice  !  but  were  she  foul  as  hell. 
And  I  did  know  it  thus,  the  breath  of  kings. 
The  points  of  swords,  tortures,  nor  bulls  of  brass. 
Should  draw  it  from  me.  270 


3IO  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III. 

Phi.  Then  it  is  no  time 
To  dally  with  thee ;  I  will  take  thy  life, 
For  I  do  hate  thee  :  I  could  curse  thee  now. 

Bel.  If  you  do  hate,  you  could  not  curse  me  worse ; 
The  gods  have  not  a  punishment  in  store 
Greater  for  me  than  is  your  hate. 

Phi.  Fie,  fie, 
So  young  and  so  dissembling  !     Tell  me  when 
And  where  thou  didst  betray  her,  or  let  plagues 
Fall  on  me,  if  I  destroy  thee  not !  280 

Bel.  Heaven  knows  I  never  did ;  and  when  I  lie 
To  save  my  hfe,  may  I  live  long  and  loathed  ! 
Hew  me  asunder,  and,  whilst  I  can  think, 
I'll  love  those  pieces  you  have  cut  away 
Better  than  those  that  grow,  and  kiss  those  limbs 
Because  you  made  'em  so. 

Phi.  Fear'st  thou  not  death? 
Can  boys  contemn  that  ? 

Bel.  Oh,  what  boy  is  he 
Can  be  content  to  live  to  be  a  man,  290 

That  sees  the  best  of  men  thus  passionate, 
Thus  without  reason? 

Phi.  Oh,  but  thou  dost  not  know 
What  'tis  to  die. 

Bel.  Yes,  I  do  know,  my  lord  : 
'Tis  less  than  to  be  born ;  a  lasting  sleep ; 
A  quiet  resting  from  all  jealousy, 
A  thing  we  all  pursue  ;  I  know,  besides. 
It  is  but  giving  over  of  a  game 
That  must  be  lost.^  300 

1  The  references  to  death,  in  the  plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  are 
almost  invariably  noble.  Cf.  Thierry  and  Theodoret,  iv,  i ;  Valentinian,  i, 
3,  and  iv,  4. 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  311 

Phi.  But  there  are  pains,  false  boy, 
For  perjured  souls  :  think  but  on  these,  and  then 
Thy  heart  will  melt,  and  thou  wilt  utter  all. 

Bel.  May  they  fall  all  upon  me  whilst  I  live, 
If  I  be  perjured,  or  have  ever  thought 
Of  that  you  charge  me  with  !     If  I  be  false, 
Send  me  to  suffer  in  those  punishments 
You  speak  of;  kill  me  ! 

Phi.  Oh,  what  should  I  do  ? 
Why,  who  can  but  beUeve  him?  he  does  swear  310 

So  earnestly,  that  if  it  were  not  true. 

The  gods  would  not  endure  him.      {Sheathes  his  sword ^ 
Rise,  Bellario  :  [Bellario  rises. 

Thy  protestations  are  so  deep,  and  thou 
Dost  look  so  truly  when  thou  utter'st  them, 
That,  though  I  know  'em  false  as  were  my  hopes, 
I  cannot  urge  thee  further.     But  thou  wert 
To  blame  to  injure  me,  for  I  must  love 
Thy  honest  looks,  and  take  no  revenge  upon 
Thy  tender  youth  :  a  love  from  me  to  thee 
Is  firm,  what'er  thou  dost :  it  troubles  me  320 

That  I  have  called  the  blood  out  of  thy  cheeks. 
That  did  so  well  become  thee.     But,  good  boy, 
Let  me  not  see  thee  more  :  something  is  done 
That  will  distract  me,  that  will  make  me  mad, 
If  I  behold  thee.     If  thou  tender'st  me. 
Let  me  not  see  thee. 

Bel.  I  will  fly  as  far 
As  there  is  morning,  ere  I  give  distaste 
To  that  most  honoured  mind.     But  through  these  tears, 
Shed  at  my  hopeless  parting,  I  can  see  330 

A  world  of  treason  practised  upon  you, 


312  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III. 

And  her,  and  me.     Farewell  for  evermore  ! 
If  you  shall  hear  that  sorrow  struck  me  dead, 
And  after  find  me  loyal,  let  there  be 
A  tear  shed  from  you  m  my  memory. 
And  I  shall  rest  at  peace. 

Phi.  Blessing  be  with  thee. 
Whatever  thou   deserv'st !  —  (^Exit  Bellario.)    Oh,  where 

shall  I 
Go  bathe  this  body  ?     Nature  too  unkind  ; 
That  made  no  medicine  for  a  troubled  mind  !       \_Exit,    340 


Scene   II.  — Arethusa's  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Arethusa. 

Are.  I  marvel  my  boy  comes  not  back  again : 
But  that  I  know  my  love  will  question  him 
Over  and  over,  —  how  I  slept,  waked,  talked, 
How  I  remembered  him  when  his  dear  name 
Was  last  spoke,  and  how,  when  I  sighed,  wept,  sung. 
And  ten  thousand  such,  —  I  should  be  angry  at  his  stay. 

Enter  King. 

King.  What,  at  your  meditations  !     Who  attends  you  ? 
Are.  None  but  my  single  self :  I  need  no  guard ; 
I  do  no  wrong,  nor  fear  none. 

King.  Tell  me,  have  you  not  a  boy  ? 

Are.  Yes,  sir. 

King.  What  kind  of  boy  ? 

Are.  A  page,  a  waiting  boy. 

King.  A  handsome  boy? 

Are,  I  think  he  be  not  ugly  : 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  313 

Well  qualified  and  dutiful  I  know  him  ; 
I  took  him  not  for  beauty. 

King.  He  speaks  and  sings  and  plays? 

Are.  Yes,  sir. 

King.  About  eighteen?  20 

Are.  I  never  asked  his  age. 

King.  Is  he  full  of  service  ? 

Are.  By  your  pardon,  why  do  you  ask? 

King.  Put  him  away. 

Are.  Sir  ! 

King.  Put  him  away.     He  has  done  you  that  good  service 
Shames  me  to  speak  of. 

Are.  Good  sir,  let  me  understand  you. 

King.  If  you  fear  me. 
Show  it  in  duty  ;  put  away  that  boy.  30 

Are.  Let  me  have  reason  for  it,  sir,  and  then 
Your  will  is  my  command. 

King.  Do  not  you  blush  to  ask  it  ?     Cast  him  off. 
Or  I  shall  do  the  same  to  you.     You're  one 
Shame  with  me,  and  so  near  unto  myself, 
That,  by  my  life,  I  dare  not  tell  myself 
What  you,  myself,  have  done. 

Are.  What  have  I  done,  my  lord  ? 

King.  'Tis  a  new  language,  that  all  love  to  learn : 
The  common  people  speak  it  well  already ;  40 

They  need  no  grammar.     Understand  me  well ; 
There  be  foul  whispers  stirring.     Cast  him  off, 
And  suddenly  :  do  it !     Farewell.  \_Exit. 

Are.  Where  may  a  maiden  live  securely  free. 
Keeping  her  honour  fair?     Not  with  the  living; 
They  feed  upon  opinions,  errors,  dreams. 
And  make  'em  truths  ;  they  draw  a  nourishment 


314  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III. 

Out  of  defamings,  grow  upon  disgraces  : 

And,  when  they  see  a  virtue  fortified 

Strongly  above  the  battery  of  their  tongues,  50 

Oh,  how  they  cast  to  sink  it !  and,  defeated, 

(Soul-sick  with  poison)  strike  the  monuments 

Where  noble  names  lie  sleeping,  till  they  sweat, 

And  the  cold  marble  melt. 

Enter  Philaster. 

Phi.  Peace  to  your  fairest  thoughts,  dearest  mistress  ! 

Are.  Oh,  my  dearest  servant,^  I  have  a  war  within  me  ! 

Phi.  He  must  be  more  than  man  that  makes  these  crystals 
Run  into  rivers.     Sweetest  fair,  the  cause  ? 
And,  as  I  am  your  slave,  tied  to  your  goodness, 
Your  creature,  made  again  from  what  I  was  60 

And  newly  spirited,  I'll  right  your  honour. 

Are.  Oh,  my  best  love,  that  boy  ! 

Phi.  What  boy? 

Are.  That  pretty  boy  you  gave  me 

Phi.  What  of  him? 

Are.  Must  be  no  more  mine. 

Phi.  Why? 

Are.  They  are  jealous  of  him. 

Phi.  Jealous  !  who  ? 

Are.  The  King.  70 

Phi.  {aside) .  Oh,  my  fortune  ! 
Then  'tis  no  idle  jealousy.  —  Let  him  go. 

Are.  Oh,  cruel ! 
Are  you  hard-hearted  too?  who  shall  now  tell  you 
How  much  I  loved  you  ?  who  shall  swear  it  to  you, 
And  weep  the  tears  I  send  ?  who  shall  now  bring  you 

1  Lover. 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  315 

Letters,  rings,  bracelets?  lose  his  health  in  service? 

Wake  tedious  nights  in  stories  of  your  praise  ? 

Who  shall  now  sing  your  crying  elegies, 

And  strike  a  sad  soul  into  senseless  pictures,  80 

And  make  them  mourn  ?  who  shall  take  up  his  lute, 

And  touch  it  till  he  crown  a  silent  sleep 

Upon  my  eyelids,  making  me  dream,  and  cry, 

*'  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Philaster  !  " 

Phi.  {aside).  Oh,  my  heart ! 
Would  he  had  broken  thee,  that  made  me  know 
This  lady  was  not  loyal  !  —  Mistress, 
Forget  the  boy ;  I'll  get  thee  a  far  better. 

Are.  Oh,  never,  never  such  a  boy  again 
As  my  Bellario  !  90 

Phi.  'Tis  but  your  fond  affection. 

Are.  With  thee,  my  boy,  farewell  for  ever 
All  secrecy  in  servants  !     Farewell  faith, 
And  all  desire  to  do  well  for  itself ! 
Let  all  that  shall  succeed  thee  for  thy  wrongs 
Sell  and  betray  chaste  love  ! 
.  Phi.  And  all  this  passion  for  a  boy  ? 

Are.  He  was  your  boy,  and  you  put  him  to  me, 
And  the  loss  of  such  must  have  a  mourning  for. 

Phi.  Oh,  thou  forgetful  woman  !  100 

Are.  How,  my  lord  ? 

Phi.  False  Arethusa  ! 
Hast  thou  a  medicine  to  restore  my  wits. 
When  I  have  lost  'em  ?     If  not,  leave  to  talk, 
And  do  thus. 

Are.  Do  what,  sir?  would  you  sleep? 

Phi.  For  ever,  Arethusa.     Oh,  you  gods. 
Give  me  a  worthy  patience  !     Have  I  stood 


3l6  PHILASTER.  [ACT  III. 

Naked,  alone,  the  shock  of  many  fortunes  ? 

Have  I  seen  mischiefs  numberless  and  mighty  no 

Grow  like  a  sea  upon  me  ?     Have  I  taken 

Danger  as  stern  as  death  into  my  bosom, 

And  laughed  upon  it,  made  it  but  a  mirth, 

And  flung  it  by  ?     Do  I  live  now  like  him. 

Under  this  tyrant  King,  that  languishing 

Hears  his  sad  bell  and  sees  his  mourners?     Do  I 

Bear  all  this  bravely,  and  must  sink  at  length 

Under  a  woman's  falsehood  ?     Oh,  that  boy, 

That  cursed  boy ! 

Are.  Nay,  then,  I  am  betrayed  :  120 

I  feel  the  plot  cast  for  my  overthrow. 
Oh,  I  am  wretched  ! 

Phi.  Now  you  may  take  that  little  right  I  have 
To  this  poor  kingdom  :  give  it  to  your  joy ; 
For  I  have  no  joy  in  it.     Some  far  place. 
Where  never  womankind  durst  set  her  foot 
For  bursting  with  her  poisons,  must  I  seek, 
And  live  to  curse  you  : 

There  dig  a  cave,  and  preach  to  birds  and  beasts 
What  woman  is,  and  help  to  save  them  from  you  :  130 

How  heaven  is  in  your  eyes,  but  in  your  hearts 
More  hell  than  hell  has ;  how  your  tongues,  like  scorpions, 
Both  heal  and  poison ;  how  your  thoughts  are  woven 
With  thousand  changes  in  one  subtle  web. 
And  worn  so  by  you  ;  how  that  foolish  man, 
That  reads  the  story  of  a  woman's  face 
And  dies  believing  it,  is  lost  for  ever : 
How  all  the  good  you  have  is  but  a  shadow, 
I'  the  morning  with  you,  and  at  night  behind  you 
Past  and  forgotten ;  how  your  vows  are  frosts,  140 


SCENE  IL]  PHILASTER.  317 

Fast  for  a  night,  and  with  the  next  sun  gone ; 

How  you  are,  being  taken  all  together, 

A  mere  confusion,  and  so  dead  a  chaos, 

That  love  cannot  distinguish.     These  sad  texts, 

rill  my  last  hour,  I  am  bound  to  utter  of  you. 

So,  farewell  all  my  woe,  all  my  delight !  \_ExiL 

Are.  Be  merciful,  ye  gods,  and  strike  me  dead  ! 
What  way  have  I  deserved  this  ?     Make  my  breast 
Transparent  as  pure  crystal,  that  the  world. 
Jealous  of  me,  may  see  the  foulest  thought  150 

My  heart  holds.     Where  shall  a  woman  turn  her  eyes, 
To  find  out  constancy? 

Enter  Bellario. 

Save  me,  how  black 
And  guiltily,  methinks,  that  boy  looks  now  ! 
Oh,  thou  dissembler,  that,  before  thou  spak'st, 
Wert  in  thy  cradle  false,  sent  to  make  lies 
And  betray  innocents  !     Thy  lord  and  thou 
May  glory  in  the  ashes  of  a  maid 
Fooled  by  her  passion  j  but  the  conquest  is 
Nothing  so  great  as  wicked.     Fly  away  ! 
Let  my  command  force  thee  to  that  which  shame  160 

Would  do  without  it.     If  thou  understood 'st 
The  loathed  office  thou  hast  undergone. 
Why,  thou  wouldst  hide  thee  under  heaps  of  hills. 
Lest  men  should  dig  and  find  thee. 

Bel.  Oh,  what  god, 
Angry  with  men,  hath  sent  this  strange  disease 
Into  the  noblest  minds  !     Madam,  this  grief 
You  add  unto  me  is  no  more  than  drops 
To  seas,  for  which  they  are  not  seen  to  swell ; 


3l8  PHILASTER.  [ACT  in. 

My  lord  hath  struck  his  anger  through  my  heart,  170 

And  let  out  all  the  hope  of  future  joys. 
You  need  not  bid  me  fly ;  I  came  to  part, 
To  take  my  latest  leave.     Farewell  for  ever  ! 
I  durst  not  run  away  in  honesty 
From  such  a  lady,  like  a  boy  that  stole 
Or  made  some  grievous  fault.     The  power  of  gods 
Assist  you  in  your  sufferings  !     Hasty  time 
Reveal  the  truth  to  your  abused  lord 

And  mine,  that  he  may  know  your  worth  ;  whilst  I  179 

Go  seek  out  some  forgotten  place  to  die  !     \^Exit  Bellario. 
Are.  Peace  guide  thee  !    Thou  hast  overthrown  me  once  ; 
Yet,  if  I  had  another  Troy  to  lose. 
Thou,  or  another  villain  with  thy  looks. 
Might  talk  me  out  of  it,  and  send  me  naked. 
My  hair  dishevelled,  through  the  fiery  streets. 

E filer  a  Lady. 

Lady.  Madam,  the  King  would  hunt,  and  calls  for  you 
With  earnestness. 

Are.  I  am  in  tune  to  hunt ! 
Diana,  if  thou  canst  rage  with  a  maid 

As  with  a  man,^  let  me  discover  thee  190 

Bathing,  and  turn  me  to  a  fearful  hind. 
That  I  may  die  pursued  by  cruel  hounds. 
And  have  my  story  written  in  my  wounds  !  \_Exeunt.^ 

1  Actaeon,  who,  having  caught  sight  of  Diana  bathing,  was  torn  to  pieces 
by  his  own  dogs. 

2  The  skill  with  which  this  third  act  is  composed  is  excellent.  What 
could  be  more  natural  than  the  art  with  which  the  King,  the  Princess,  and 
Philaster  are  enmeshed  in  mutual  misunderstandings,  not  a  loophole  for 
explanations  visible  ? 


SCEi^E  I.]  PHILASTER.  319 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.  —  Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  King,  Pharamond,  Arethusa,  Galatea,  Megra, 
Dion,  Cleremont,  Thrasiline,  and  Attendants. 

King.  What,  are  the  hounds  before  and  all  the  woodmen, 
Our  horses  ready  and  our  bows  bent  ? 

Dio7i.  All,  sir. 

King  {to  Pharamond).    You  are  cloudy,  sir:    come,  we 
have  forgotten 
Your  venial  trespass  ;  let  not  that  sit  heavy 
Upon  your  spirit :  here's  none  dare  utter  it. 

Dion.  He  looks  dull  as  a  dormouse.     See  how  he  sinks  ! 

Thra.  He  needs  no  teaching,  he  strikes  sure  enough :  his 
greatest  fault  is,  he  hunts  too  much  in  the  purlieus ;  would 
he  would  leave  off  poaching  !  10 

Dion.  And  for  his  horn,  h'as  left  it  at  the  lodge  where  he 
lay  late.  Oh,  he's  a  precious  limehound  ^ !  turn  him  loose 
upon  the  pursuit  of  a  lady,  and  if  he  lose  her,  hang  him  up 
i'  the  shp. 

King.  Is  your  boy  turned  away  ? 

Are.  You  did  command,  sir. 
And  I  obeyed  you. 

King.  'Tis  well  done.     Hark  ye  further. 

\They'  talk  apart. 

1  Hunting-dog ;  from  the  collar,  and  thong  {learn,  lyam,  livte)  used  in 
leading  him, 


320  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Cle.  Is't  possible  this  fellow  should  repent?  methinks, 
that  were  not  noble  in  him  ;  and  yet  he  looks  like  a  mortified 
member,  as  if  he  had  a  sick  man's  salve  ^  in's  mouth.  If 
a  worse  man  had  done  this  fault  now,  some  physical  justice 
or  other  would  presently  (without  the  help  of  an  almanack) 
have  opened  the  obstructions  of  his  liver,  and  let  him  blood 
with  a  dogwhip.  25 

Dion.  See,  see  how  modestly  yon  lady  looks,  as  if  she 
came  from  churching  with  her  neighbour  !  Why,  what  a 
devil  can  a  man  see  in  her  face  but  that  she's  honest ! 

Thra.  Troth,  no  great  matter  to  speak  of;  a  foolish 
twinkhng  with  the  eye,  that  spoils  her  coat ;  but  he  must  be 
a  cunning  herald  that  finds  it.  31 

Dion.  See  how  they  muster  one  another  !  Oh,  there's  a 
rank  regiment  where  the  devil  carries  the  colours  and  his 
dam  drum-major  !  now  the  world  and  the  flesh  come  behind 
with  the  carriage.^ 

Cle.  Sure  this  lady  has  a  good  turn  done  her  against  her 
will.  Her  face  looks  like  a  warrant,  willing  and  command- 
ing all  tongues,  as  they  will  answer  it,  to  be  tied  up  and 
bolted  when  this  lady  means  to  let  herself  loose.  As  I  live, 
she  has  got  her  a  goodly  protection  and  a  gracious  :  Oh,  if 
they  were  to  be  got  for  money,  what  a  great  sum  would 
come  out  of  the  city  for  these  licenses  !  42 

King.  To  horse,  to  horse  !  we  lose  the  morning,  gentle- 
men. \_Exeunt. 

1  A  religious  work,  The  Sick  Man's  Salve,  was  often  ridiculed  by  the 
early  dramatists. 

2  Baggage. 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  321 

Scene  II.  —  A  Forest. 
Enter  two  Woodmen. 

1st  Wood.  What,  have  you  lodged  the  deer? 

2d  Wood.  Yes,  they  are  ready  for  the  bow. 

1st  Wood.  Who  shoots? 

2d  Wood.  The  princess. 

1st  Wood.  No,  she'll  hunt. 

2d  Wood.  She'll  take  a  stand,  I  say. 

1st  Wood.  Who  else  ? 

2d  Wood.  Why,  the  young  stranger-prince. 

1st  Wood.  He  shall  shoot  in  a  stone-bow^  for  me.  I 
never  loved  his  beyond-sea-ship  since  he  forsook  the  say,^ 
for  paying  ten  shillings.  I  think  he  should  love  venery  ;  he 
is  an  old  Sir  Tristrem,"^  for  if  you  be  remembered,  he  forsook 
the  stag  once  to  strike  a  rascal  miching  ^  in  a  meadow,  and 
her  he  killed  in  the  eye.     Who  shoots  else  ?  14 

2d  Wood.  The  Lady  Galatea. 

1st  Wood.  She's  liberal,  and,  by  my  bow,  they  say  she's 
honest ;  and  whether  that  be  a  fault,  I  have  nothing  to  do. 
There's  all? 

2d  Wood.  No,  one  more ;  Megra. 

1st  Wood.  That's  a  firker  ^  i  'faith,  boy  !  I  have  known  her 
lose  herself  three  times  in  one  afternoon  (if  the  woods  have 
been  answerable) ,  and  it  has  been  work  enough  for  one  man 
to  find  her,  and  he  has  sweat  for  it.  She  rides  well  and  she 
pays  well.     Hark  !  let's  go.  \_Exeunt.     24 

1  Cross-bow  for  shooting  stones. 

2  The  assay,  or  slitting  of  the  deer,  in  order  to  test  the  quality  of  his  flesh, 
which  involved  a  fee  often  shillings  to  the  keeper. 

8  Sir  Tristram,  one  of  the  knights  of  the  Round  Table. 

4  Lurking,  skulking ;  ci.  Hamlet, '\\\,  2.  146.  5  Slasher. 


32  2  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Enter  Philaster. 

Phi.  Oh,  that  I  had  been  nourished  in  these  woods 
With  milk  of  goats  and  acorns,  and  not  known 
The  right  of  crowns  nor  the  dissembling  trains 
Of  women's  looks  ;  but  digged  myself  a  cave. 
Where  I,  my  fire,  my  cattle,  and  my  bed. 
Might  have  been  shut  together  in  one  shed ;  30 

And  then  had  taken  me  some  mountain-girl. 
Beaten  with  winds,  chaste  as  the  hardened  rocks 
Whereon  she  dwells,  that  might  have  strewed  my  bed 
With  leaves  and  reeds,  and  with  the  skins  of  beasts. 
Our  neighbours,  and  have  borne  at  her  big  breasts 
My  large  coarse  issue  !  ^  This  had  been  a  life 
Free  from  vexation. 

Enter  Bellario. 

Bel.  Oh,  wicked  men  ! 
An  innocent  may  walk  safe  among  beasts  ; 
Nothing  assaults  me  here.     (^Aside)     See,  my  grieved  lord 
Sits  as  his  soul  were  searching  out  a  way  40 

To  leave  his  body  !  —  Pardon  me,  that  must 
Break  thy  last  commandment ;  for  I  must  speak  : 
You  that  are  grieved  can  pity ;  hear,  my  lord  ! 

Phi.  Is  there  a  creature  yet  so  miserable, 
That  I  can  pity? 

Bel.  Oh,  my  noble  lord, 
View  my  strange  fortune,  and  bestow  on  me, 
According  to  your  bounty  (if  my  service 
Can  merit  nothing),  so  much  as  may  serve 
To  keep  that  httle  piece  I  hold  of  life  50 

1  Cf.  Tennyson's  Locksley  Hall. 


SCENE  II.]  PHILASTER.  .323 

From  cold  and  hunger  ! 

Phi.  Is  it  thou  ?  begone  ! 
Go,  sell  those  misbeseeming  clothes  thou  wear'st, 
And  feed  thyself  with  them. 

Bel.  Alas,  my  lord,  I  can  get  nothing  for  them  ! 
The  silly  country-people  think  'tis  treason 
To  touch  such  gay  things. 

Phi.  Now,  by  my  life,  this  is 
Unkindly  done,  to  vex  me  with  thy  sight. 
Thou'rt  fallen  again  to  thy  dissembling  trade  :  60 

How  shouldst  thou  think  to  cozen  me  again? 
Remains  there  yet  a  plague  untried  for  me  ? 
Even  so  thou  wept'st,  and  looked'st,  and  spok'st  when  first 
I  took  thee  up  : 

Curse  on  the  time  !     If  thy  commanding  tears 
Can  work  on  any  other,  use  thy  art ; 
I'll  not  betray  it     Which  way  wilt  thou  take  ? 
That  I  may  shun  thee,  for  thine  eyes  are  poison 
To  mine,  and  I  am  loath  to  grow  in  rage : 
This  way,  or  that  way?  70 

Bel.  Any  will  serve ;  but  I  will  choose  to  have 
That  path  in  chase  that  leads  unto  my  grave. 

[^Exeunt  severally. 

Enter  on  one  side  Dion,  and  on  the  other  the  two  Woodmen. 

Dion.  This  is  the  strangest  sudden  chance  !     You,  wood- 
men ! 
1st  Wood.  My  Lord  Dion? 

Dion.  Saw  you  a  lady  come   this  way  on  a  sable  horse 
studded  with  stars  of  white  ? 

2d  Wood.  Was  she  not  young  and  tall  ? 

Dion.  Yes.     Rode  she  to  the  wood  or  to  the  plain  ? 


324  PHILASTER.  [ACT  iv. 

2d  Wood.  Faith  my  lord,  we  saw  none. 

\_Exeunt  Woodmen. 
Dion.  Plague  of  your  questions  then  !  80 

Enter  Cleremont. 

What,  is  she  found  ? 

Cle.  Nor  will  be,  I  think. 

Dion.  Let  him  seek  his  daughter  himself.  She  cannot 
stray  about  a  little,  but  the  whole  court  must  be  in  arms, 

Cle.  There's  already  a  thousand  fatherless  tales  amongst 
us.  Some  say,  her  horse  ran  away  with  her ;  some,  a  wolf 
pursued  her;  others,  it  was  a  plot  to  kill  her,  and  that 
armed  men  were  seen  in  the  wood :  but,  questionless,  she 
rode  away  willingly. 

Enter  King,  Thrasiline,  and  Attendants. 

King.  Where  is  she?  90 

Cle.  Sir,  I  cannot  tell. 

King,  How's  that? 
Answer  me  so  again  ! 

Cle.  Sir,  shall  I  lie  ? 

King.  Yes,  lie  and  damn,  rather  than  tell  me  that. 
I  say  again,  where  is  she  ?     Mutter  not !  — 
Sir,  speak  you  ;  where  is  she  ? 

Dion.  Sir,  I  do  not  know. 

King.  Speak  that  again  so  boldly,  and,  by  Heaven, 
It  is  thy  last !  —  You,  fellows,  answer  me  ;  100 

Where  is  she  ?     Mark  me,  all ;  I  am  your  King : 
I  wish  to  see  my  daughter ;  show  her  me  ; 
I  do  command  you  all,  as  you  are  subjects, 
To  show  her  me  !     What !   am  I  not  your  King  ? 
If  ay,  then  am  I  not  to  be  obeyed  ? 

Dion.  Yes,  if  you  command  things  possible  and  honest. 


SCENE  II.J  PHILASTER.  325 

King.  Things  possible  and  honest !     Hear  me,  thou, 
Thou  traitor,  that  dar'st  confine  thy  King  to  things 
Possible  and  honest  !  show  her  me, 

Or,  let  me  perish,  if  I  cover  not  no 

All  Sicily  with  blood  ! 

Dion.  Indeed  I  cannot, 
Unless  you  tell  me  where  she  is. 

King.  You  have  betrayed  me ;  you  have  let  me  lose 
The  jewel  of  my  Hfe.     Go,  bring  her  to  me. 
And  set  her  here  before  me  :  'tis  the  King 
Will  have  it  so ;  whose  breath  can  still  the  winds, 
Uncloud  the  sun,  charm  down  the  swelling  sea. 
And  stop  the  floods  of  heaven.     Speak,  can  it  not  ? 

Dion.  No.  120 

King.  No  !  cannot  the  breath  of  kings  do  this  ? 

Dion.  No  ;  nor  smell  sweet  itself,  if  once  the  lungs 
Be  but  corrupted. 

King.  Is  it  so?    Take  heed  ! 

Dion.  Sir,  take  you  heed  how  you  dare  the  powers 
That  must  be  just. 

King.  Alas  !  what  are  we  kings  ! 
Why  do  you,  gods,  place  us  above  the  rest. 
To  be  served,  flattered,  and  adored,  till  we 
Believe  we  hold  within  our  hands  your  thunder,  130 

And  when  we  come  to  try  the  power  we  have. 
There's  not  a  leaf  shakes  at  our  threatenings  ? 
I  have  sinned,  'tis  true,  and  here  stand  to  be  punished ; 
Yet  would  not  thus  be  punished  :  let  me  choose 
My  way,  and  lay  it  on  ! 

Dion  {aside).  He  articles  with  the  gods.  Would  some- 
body would  draw  bonds  for  the  performance  of  covenants 
betwixt  them ! 


326  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Enter  Pharamond,  Galatea,  ajid  Megra. 

King.  What,  is  she  found? 

Pha.  No  ;  we  have  ta'en  her  horse  ;  140 

He  galloped  empty  by.     There  is  some  treason. 
You,  Galatea,  rode  with  her  into  the  wood ; 
Why  left  you  her  ? 

Gal.  She  did  command  me. 

King.  Command  !   you  should  not. 

Gal.  'Twould  ill  become  my  fortunes  and  my  birth 
To  disobey  the  daughter  of  my  King. 

King.  You're  all  cunning  to  obey  us  for  our  hurt ; 
But  I  will  have  her. 

Pha.  If  I  have  her  not,  150 

By  this  hand,  there  shall  be  no  more  Sicily. 

Dion  {aside).  What,  will  he  carry  it  to  Spain  in's  pocket? 

Pha.  I  will  not  leave  one  man  alive,  but  the  King, 
A  cook,  and  a  tailor. 

King  {aside).  I  see 
The  injuries  I  have  done  must  be  revenged. 

Dion.  Sir,  this  is  not  the  way  to  find  her  out. 

King.  Run  all,  disperse  yourselves.     The  man  that  finds 
her. 
Or  (if  she  be  killed),  the  traitor,  I'll  make  him  great. 

Dion   {aside).  I   know  some  would  give  five   thousand 
pounds  to  find  her.  161 

Pha.  Come,  let  us  seek. 

King.  Each  man  a  several  way ; 
Here  I  myself. 

Dion.  Come,  gentlemen,  we  here. 

Cle.  Lady,  you  must  go  search  too. 

Meg.  I  had  rather  be  searched  myself.  \_Exeunf  severally. 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  327 

Scene  III.  —  Another  Pa7't  of  the  Forest 

Enter  Arethusa. 

Are.  Where  am  I  now  ?     Feet,  find  me  out  a  way, 
Without  the  counsel  of  my  troubled  head  : 
I'll  follow  you  boldly  about  these  woods, 
O'er  mountains,  through  brambles,  pits,  and  floods. 
Heaven,  I  hope,  will  ease  me  :  I  am  sick.  \_Sits  down. 

Enter  Bellario. 

Bel.  {aside) .  Yonder's  my  lady.     Heaven  knows  I  want 
Nothing,  because  I  do  not  wish  to  live ; 
Yet  I  will  try  her  charity.  —  Oh,  hear. 
You  that  have  plenty  !  from  that  flowing  store 
Drop  some  on  dry  ground.  —  See,  the  lively  red  10 

Is  gone  to  guard  her  heart  !     I  fear  she  faints.  — 
Madam,  look  up  !  —  She  breathes  not.  —  Open  once  more 
Those  rosy  twins,  and  send  unto  my  lord 
Your  latest  farewell !  —  Oh,  she  stirs.  —  How  is  it. 
Madam?  speak  comfort. 

Are,  'Tis  not  gently  done, 
To  put  me  in  a  miserable  life. 
And  hold  me  there  :  I  prithee,  let  me  go ; 
I  shall  do  best  without  thee ;  I  am  well. 

Enter  Philaster. 

■ 

Phi.  I  am  to  blame  to  be  so  much  in  rage  :  20 

I'll  tell  her  coolly  when  and  where  I  heard 
This  killing  truth.     I  will  be  temperate 

In  speaking,  and  as  just  in  hearing. 

Oh,  monstrous  !    Tempt  me  not,  ye  gods  !  good  gods, 


328  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Tempt  not  a  frail  man  !     What's  he,  that  has  a  heart, 
But  he  must  ease  it  here  ! 

Bel.  My  lord,  help,  help  ! 
The  princess  ! 

Are.  I  am  well :  forbear. 

Phi.  {aside).  Let  me  love  lightning,  let  me  be  embraced 
And  kissed  by  scorpions,  or  adore  the  eyes  31 

Of  basilisks,  rather  than  trust  the  tongues 
Of  hell-bred  women  !     Some  good  god  look  down, 
And  shrink  these  veins  up ;  stick  me  here  a  stone. 
Lasting  to  ages  in  the  memory 
Of  this  damned  act !  —  Hear  me,  you  wicked  ones  ! 
You  have  put  hills  of  fire  into  this  breast. 
Not  to  be  quenched  with  tears ;  for  which  may  guilt 
Sit  on  your  bosoms  !  at  your  meals  and  beds 
Despair  await  you  !     What,  before  my  face  ?  40 

Poison  of  asps  between  your  hps  !  diseases 
Be  your  best  issues  !     Nature  make  a  curse, 
And  throw  it  on  you  ! 

Are.  Dear  Philaster,  leave 
To  be  enraged,  and  hear  me. 

Phi.  I  have  done  ; 
Forgive  my  passion.     Not  the  calmed  sea. 
When  ^olus  locks  up  his  windy  brood, 
Is  less  disturbed  than  I :  I'll  make  you  know  it. 
Dear  Arethusa,  do  but  take  this  sword,  50 

[  Offers  his  drawn  sword. 
And  search  how  temperate  a  heart  I  have ; 
Then  you  and  this  your  boy  may  live  and  reign 
In  lust  without  control.     Wilt  thou,  Bellario? 
I  prithee  kill  me ;  thou  art  poor,  and  may'st 
Nourish  ambitious  thoughts ;  when  I  am  dead, 


SCENE  III.J  PHILASTER.  329 

Thy  way  were  freer.     Am  I  raging  now? 
If  I  were  mad,  I  should  desire  to  live. 
Sirs,^  feel  my  pulse,  whether  you  have  known 
A  man  in  a  more  equal  tune  to  die. 

Bel.  Alas,  my  lord,  your  pulse  keeps  madman's  time  ! 
So  does  your  tongue.  61 

Phi.  You  will  not  kill  me,  then  ? 

Are.  Kill  you  ! 

Bel.  Not  for  a  world. 

Phi.  I  blame  not  thee, 
Bellario  :  thou  hast  done  but  that  which  gods 
Would  have  transformed  themselves  to  do.     Be  gone, 
Leave  me  without  reply ;  this  is  the  last 
Of  all  our  meetings — (i^'jczV  Bellario.)     Kill  me  with  this 

sword ; 
Be  wise,  or  worse  will  follow  :  we  are  two  70 

Earth  cannot  bear  at  once.  Resolve  to  do. 
Or  suffer. 

Are.  If  my  fortune  be  so  good  to  let  me  fall 
Upon  thy  hand,  I  shall  have  peace  in  death. 
Yet  tell  me  this,  will  there  be  no  slanders, 
No  jealousies  in  the  other  world  ;  no  ill  there? 

Phi.  No. 

Are.     Show  me,  then,  the  way. 

Phi,  Then  guide  my  feeble  hand. 
You  that  have  power  to  do  it,  for  I  must  80 

Perform  a  piece  of  justice  !  —  If  your  youth 
Have  any  way  offended  Heaven,  let  prayers 
Short  and  effectual  reconcile  you  to  it. 

Are.  I  am  prepared. 

1  Women,  as  well  as  men,  were  formerly  addressed  as  sirs. 


330  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Enter  a  Country  Fellow. 

C.  Fell  {aside) .  I'll  see  the  King,  if  he  be  in  the  forest ;  I 
have  hunted  him  these  two  hours ;  if  I  should  come  home 
and  not  see  him,  my  sisters  would  laugh  at  me.  I  can  see 
nothing  but  people  better  horsed  than  myself,  that  outride 
me  ;  I  can  hear  nothing  but  shouting.  These  kings  had  need 
of  good  brains ;  this  whooping  is  able  to  put  a  mean  man 
out  of  his  wits.  There's  a  courtier  with  his  sword  drawn ; 
by  this  hand,  upon  a  woman,  I  think  !  92 

Phi.  Are  you  at  peace  ? 

Are.  With  heaven  and  earth. 

Phi.  Mliy  they  divide  thy  soul  and  body  !     [  Wounds  her. 

C.  Fell.  Hold,  dastard  !  strike  a  woman  !  Thou'rt  a 
craven,  I  warrant  thee  :  thou  wouldst  be  loath  to  play  half  a 
dozen  venies^  at  wasters^  with  a  good  fellow  for  a  broken 
head. 

Phi.  Leave  us,  good  friend.  100 

Are,  What  ill-bred  man  art  thou,  to  intrude  thyself 
Upon  our  private  sports,  our  recreations  ? 

C.  Fell.  God  'uds  me/  I  understand  you  not ;  but 
I  know  the  rogue  has  hurt  you. 

Phi.  Pursue  thy  own  affairs  :  it  will  be  ill 
To  multiply  blood  upon  my  head ;  which  thou 
Wilt  force  me  to. 

C.  Fell.  I  know  not  your  rhetoric ;  but  I  can  lay  it  on,  if 
you  touch  the  woman. 

Phi.  Slave,  take  what  thou  deservest !       \They  fight,     no 

Are.  Heavens  guard  my  lord  ! 

C.  Fell.  Oh,  do  you  breathe  ? 

Phi.   {aside) .  I  hear  the  tread  of  people.     I  am  hurt : 

1  A  turn  or  bout,  at  fencing ;  French  venue. 

2  Singlestick,  or  cudgels.  3  God  judge  me. 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  331 

The  gods  take  part  against  me  :  could  this  boor 

Have  held  me  thus  else  ?  I  must  shift  for  life, 

Though  I  do  loathe  it.     I  would  find  a  course 

To  lose  it  rather  by  my  will  than  force.  \_Exit. 

C.  Fell.  I  cannot  follow  the  rogue.     I  pray  thee,  wench, 
come  and  kiss  me  now. 

Enter  Pharamond,  Dion,  Cleremont,  Thrasiline,  and 
Woodmen. 

Pha.  What  art  thou?  120 

C.  Fell.  Almost  killed  I  am  for  a  foolish  woman ;  a  knave 
has  hurt  her. 

Pha.  The   princess,   gentlemen!  —  Where's   the   wound, 
madam  ! 
Is  it  dangerous  ? 

Are.  He  has  not  hurt  me. 

C.  Fell.  I'  faith,  she  hes ;  h'as  hurt  her  in  the  breast ; 
look  else. 

Pha.  O,  sacred  spring  of  innocent  blood  ! 

Dion.  'Tis  above  wonder  !  who  should  dare  this? 

Are.  I  felt  it  not.  130 

Pha.  Speak,  villain,  who  has  hurt  the  princess? 

C.  Fell.  Is  it  the  princess  ? 

Dion.  Ay. 

C.  Fell.  Then  I  have  seen  something  yet. 

Pha.  But  who  has  hurt  her? 

C.  Fell.  I  told  you,  a  rogue ;  I  ne'er  saw  him  before,  I. 

Pha.  Madam,  who  did  it? 

Are.  Some  dishonest  wretch ; 
Alas,  I  know  him  not,  and  do  forgive  him  ! 

C.  Fell.  He's  hurt  too ;  he  cannot  go  far ;  I  made  my 
father's  old  fox  ^  fly  about  his  ears.  141 

1  Sword. 


332  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Pha.  How  will  you  have  me  kill  him  ? 

Are.  Not  at  all ; 
'Tis  some  distracted  fellow. 

Pha.  By  this  hand, 
I'll  leave  ne'er  a  piece  of  him  bigger  than  a  nut, 
And  bring  him  all  to  you  in  my  hat. 

Are.  Nay,  good  sir. 
If  you  do  take  him,  bring  him  quick  ^  to  me. 
And  I  will  study  for  a  punishment  150 

Great  as  his  fault. 

Pha.  I  will. 

Are.  But  swear. 

Pha.  By  all  my  love,  I  will. — 
Woodmen,  conduct  the  princess  to  the  King, 
And  bear  that  wounded  fellow  to  dressing.  — 
Come,  gentlemen,  we'll  follow  the  chase  close. 

\_Exeunt  on  one  side  Pharamond,  Dion,  Cleremont, 
and  Thrasiline  ;  on  the  other  Arethusa  at- 
tended by  the  First  Woodman. 

C.  Fell.  I  pray  you,  friend,  let  me  see  the  King. 

2d  Wood.  That  you  shall,  and  receive  thanks. 

C.  Fell.  If  I  get  clear  with  this,  I'll  go  see  no  more  gay 
sights.  \_Exeunt.     160 

Scene  IV. — Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Bellario. 

Bel.  A  heaviness  near  death  sits  on  my  brow. 
And  I  must  sleep.  Bear  me,  thou  gentle  bank. 
For  ever,  if  thou  wilt.     You  sweet  ones  all,  \_Lies  down. 

Let  me  unworthy  press  you  :  I  could  wish 

1  Alive. 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  333 

1  rather  were  a  corse  strewed  o'er  with  you 

Than  quick  above  you.     Dulness  shuts  mine  eyes, 

And  I  am  giddy :  oh,  that  I  could  take 

So  sound  a  sleep  that  I  might  never  wake  !  \Sleeps. 

Enter  Philaster. 

Phi.  I  have  done  ill ;  my  conscience  calls  me  false, 
To  strike  at  her  that  would  not  strike  at  me.  10 

When  I  did  fight,  methought  I  heard  her  pray 
The  gods  to  guard  me.     She  may  be  abused. 
And  I  a  loathed  villain  :  if  she  be. 
She  will  conceal  who  hurt  her.     He  has  wounds 
And  cannot  follow ;  neither  knows  he  me. 
Who's  this?  Bellario  sleeping  !     If  thou  be'st 
Guilty,  there  is  no  justice  that  thy  sleep 
Should  be  so  sound,  and  mine,  whom  thou  hast  wronged, 

[  Cry  within. 
So  broken.     Hark  !  I  am  pursued.     Ye  gods, 
I'll  take  this  offered  means  of  my  escape  :  20 

They  have  no  mark  to  know  me  but  my  blood. 
If  she  be  true  ;  if  false,  let  mischief  light 
On  all  the  world  at  once  !     Sword,  print  my  wounds 
Upon  this  sleeping  boy  !  I  have  none,  I  think. 
Are  mortal,  nor  would  I  lay  greater  on  thee. 

[  Wounds  Bellario.^ 

Bel.  Oh,  death,  I  hope,  is  come  !     Blest  be  that  hand  ! 
It  meant  me  well.     Again,  for  pity's  sake  ! 

Phi.  I  have  caught  myself;  \Falls. 

The  loss  of  blood  hath  stayed  my  flight.     Here,  here, 

1  Dryden  justly  condemns  these  pinkings  of  Arethusa  and  Bellario  by 
Philaster.  "  It  is  as  if  the  jealous  but  naturally  gentle  lover  wished  to  do  a 
little  bit  of  murder  without  actually  committing  it,"  says  Leigh  Hunt. 


334  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Is  he  that  struck  thee  :  take  thy  full  revenge  ;  30 

Use  me,  as  I  did  mean  thee,  worse  than  death ; 

I'll  teach  thee  to  revenge.     This  luckless  hand 

Wounded  the  princess  ;  tell  my  followers  ^ 

Thou  didst  receive  these  hurts  in  staying  me, 

And  I  will  second  thee ;  get  a  reward. 

Bel.  Fly,  fly,  my  lord,  and  save  yourself ! 

Phi.  How's  this  ? 
VVouldst  thou  I  should  be  safe  ? 

Bel.  Else  were  it  vain 
For  me  to  live.     These  little  wounds  I  have  40 

Have  not  bled  much  :  reach  me  that  noble  hand ; 
I'll  help  to  cover  you. 

Phi.  Art  thou  then  true  to  me  ? 

Bel.  Or  let  me  perish  loathed  !     Come,  my  good  lord. 
Creep  in  amongst  those  bushes  :  who  does  know 
But  that  the  gods  may  save  your  much-loved  breath  ? 

Phi.  Then  I  shall  die  for  grief,  if  not  for  this. 
That  I  have  wounded  thee.     What  wilt  thou  do? 

Bel,  Shift  for  myself  well.     Peace  !  I  hear  'em  come. 

[Philaster  creeps  into  a  bush. 

( Voices  within.^   Follow,   follow,  follow  !    that  way  they 
went.  50 

Bel.  With  my  own  wounds  I'll  bloody  my  own  sword. 
I  need  not  counterfeit  to  fall ;  Heaven  knows 
That  I  can  stand  no  longer.  \_Falls. 

Enter  Pharamond,  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Pha.  To  this  place  we  have  tracked  him  by  his  blood. 
Cle.  Yonder,  my  lord,  creeps  one  away. 
Dion.  Stay,  sir  !  what  are  you  ? 

1  Pursuers, 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  335 

Bel.  A  wretched  creature,  wounded  in  these  woods 
By  beasts  :  reheve  me,  if  your  names  be  men, 
Or  I  shall  perish. 

Dion.  This  is  he,  my  lord,  60 

Upon  my  soul,  that  hurt  her :  'tis  the  boy, 
That  wicked  boy,  that  served  her. 

Pha.  Oh,  thou  damned 
In  thy  creation  !  what  cause  couldst  thou  shape 
To  hurt  the  princess? 

Bel.  Then  I  am  betrayed. 

Dion.  Betrayed  !  no,  apprehended. 

Bel.  I  confess, 
(Urge  it  no  more)  that  big  with  evil  thoughts, 
I  set  upon  her,  and  did  take  my  aim,  70 

Her  death.     For  charity  let  fall  at  once 
The  punishment  you  mean,  and  do  not  load 
This  weary  flesh  with  tortures. 

Pha.  I  will  know 
Who  hired  thee  to  this  deed. 

Bel.  Mine  own  revenge. 

Pha.  Revenge  !  for  what? 

Bel.  It  pleased  her  to  receive 
Me  as  her  page,  and,  when  my  fortunes  ebbed. 
That  men  strid  o'er  them  careless,  she  did  shower  80 

Her  welcome  graces  on  me,  and  did  swell 
My  fortunes  till  they  overflowed  their  banks. 
Threatening  the  men  that  crossed  'em ;  when,  as  swift 
As  storms  arise  at  sea,  she  turned  her  eyes 
To  burning  suns  upon  me,  and  did  dry 
The  streams  she  had  bestowed,  leaving  me  worse 
And  more  contemned  than  other  little  brooks, 
Because  I  had  been  great.     In  short,  I  knew 


336  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

I  could  not  live,  and  therefore  did  desire 

To  die  revenged.  90 

Pha.  If  tortures  can  be  found 
Long  as  thy  natural  life,  resolve  to  feel 
The  utmost  rigour. 

Cle.  Help  to  lead  him  hence. 

[Philaster  creeps  out  of  the  bush. 

Phi.  Turn  back,  you  ravishers  of  innocence  ! 
Know  ye  the  price  of  that  you  bear  away 
So  rudely? 

Pha.  Who's  that? 

Dion.  'Tis  the  Lord  Philaster. 

Phi.  'Tis  not  the  treasure  of  all  kings  in  one,  100 

The  wealth  of  Tagus,  nor  the  rocks  of  pearl 
That  pave  the  court  of  Neptune,  can  weigh  down 
That  virtue.     It  was  I  that  hurt  the  princess. 
Place  me,  some  god,  upon  a  pyramis  ^ 
Higher  than  hills  of  earth,  and  lend  a  voice 
Loud  as  your  thunder  to  me,  that  from  thence 
I  may  discourse  to  all  the  under- world 
The  worth  that  dwells  in  him  ! 

Pha.  How's  this? 

Bel.  My  lord,  some  man  no 

Weary  of  life,  that  would  be  glad  to  die. 

Phi.  Leave  these  untimely  courtesies,  Bellario. 

Bel.  Alas,  he's  mad  !     Come,  will  you  lead  me  on? 

Phi.  By  all  the  oaths  that  men  ought  most  to  keep, 
And  gods  do  punish  most  when  men  do  break. 
He  touched  her  not.  —  Take  heed,  Bellario, 
How  thou  dost  drown  the  virtues  thou  hast  shown 
With  perjury.  —  By  all  that's  good,  'twas  I ! 

1  Pyramid. 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  337 

You  know  she  stood  betwixt  me  and  my  right. 

Pha.  Thy  own  tongue  be  thy  judge  !  120 

Cle.  It  was  Philaster. 

Dion.  Is't  not  a  brave  boy? 
Well,  sirs,  I  fear  me  we  were  all  deceived. 

Phi.  Have  I  no  friend  here  ? 

Dion.  Yes. 

Phi.  Then  show  it :  some 
Good  body  lend  a  hand  to  draw  us  nearer. 
Would  you  have  tears  shed  for  you  when  you  die  ? 
Then  lay  me  gently  on  his  neck,  that  there 
I  may  weep  floods  and  breathe  forth  my  spirit.  130 

'Tis  not  the  wealth  of  Plutus,  nor  the  gold     \_Embraces  Bel. 
Locked  in  the  heart  of  earth,  can  buy  away 
This  arm-full  from  me  :  this  had  been  a  ransom 
To  have  redeemed  the  great  Augustus  Caesar, 
Had  he  been  taken.     You  hard-hearted  men, 
More  stony  than  these  mountains,  can  you  see 
Such  clear  pure  blood  drop,  and  not  cut  your  flesh 
To  stop  his  life  ?  to  bind  whose  bitter  wounds. 
Queens  ought  to  tear  their  hair,  and  with  their  tears 
Bathe  'em.  —  Forgive  me,  thou  that  art  the  wealth  140 

Of  poor  Philaster  ! 

Enter  King,  Arethusa,  and  Guard. 

King.  Is  the  villain  ta'en? 

Pha.  Sir,  here  be  two  confess  the  deed ;  but  sure 
It  was  Philaster. 

Phi.  Question  it  no  more  ; 
It  was. 

King.  The  fellow  that  did  fight  with  him, 
Will  tell  us  that. 


338  PHILASTER.  [ACT  IV. 

Are.  Aye  me  !  I  know  he  will. 

King.  Did  not  you  know  him  ?  150 

Are.  Sir,  if  it  was  he, 
He  was  disguised. 

Phi.  {aside).  I  was  so.     Oh,  my  stars. 
That  I  should  live  still. 

King.  Thou  ambitious  fool. 
Thou  that  hast  laid  a  train  for  thy  own  life  !  — 
Now  I  do  mean  to  do,  I'll  leave  to  talk. 
Bear  them  to  prison. 

Are.  Sir,  they  did  plot  together  to  take  hence 
This  harmless  hfe  ;  should  it  pass  unrevenged,  160 

I  should  to  earth  go  weeping :  grant  me,  then. 
By  all  the  love  a  father  bears  his  child. 
Their  custodies,  and  that  I  may  appoint 
Their  tortures  and  their  death. 

Dion.  Death  !     Soft ;  our  law  will  not  reach  that  for  this 
fault. 

King.  'Tis  granted ;  take  'em  to  you  with  a  guard.  — 
Come,  princely  Pharamond,  this  business  past, 
We  may  with  more  security  go  on 
To  your  intended  match. 

\_Exeunt  all  except  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Cle.  I  pray  that  this  action  lose  not  Philaster  the  hearts  of 
the  people.  171 

Dion.  Fear  it  not ;  their  over- wise  heads  will  think  it  but 
a  trick.  \jExeunt 


SCENE  I.]  PHILASTER.  339 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  —  Before  the  Palace. 
Enter  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Th7'a.  Has  the  King  sent  for  him  to  death? 

Dion.  Yes ;  but  the  King  must  know  'tis  not  in  his  power 
to  war  with  Heaven. 

Cle.  We  Hnger  time ;  the  King  sent  for  Philaster  and  the 
headsman  an  hour  ago. 

Thra.  Are  all  his  wounds  well  ? 

Dion.  All ;  they  were  but  scratches  ;  but  the  loss  of  blood 
made  him  faint. 

Cle.  We  dally,  gentlemen. 

Thra.  Away  !  lo 

Dion.  We'll  scuffle  hard  before  he  perish.  \_Exeunt. 

Scene  n.  —  A  Prison. 
Enter  Philaster,  Arethusa,  and  Bellario. 

Are.  Nay,  dear  Philaster,  grieve  not ;  we  are  well. 

Bel.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  forbear ;  we  are  wondrous  well. 

Phi.  Oh,  Arethusa,  oh,  Bellario, 
Leave  to  be  kind  ! 

I  shall  be  shut  from  Heaven,  as  now  from  earth, 
If  you  continue  so.     I  am  a  man 
False  to  a  pair  of  the  most  trusty  ones 
That  ever  earth  bore  :  can  it  bear  us  all  ? 
Forgive  and  leave  me.     But  the  King  hath  sent 


340  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

To  call  me  to  my  death  :  oh,  show  it  me,  lo 

And  then  forget  me  !  and  for  thee,  my  boy, 

I  shall  deliver  words  will  mollify 

The  hearts  of  beasts  to  spare  thy  innocence. 

Bel.  Alas,  my  lord,  my  life  is  not  a  thing 
Worthy  your  noble  thoughts  !    'tis  not  a  hfe, 
'Tis  but  a  piece  of  childhood  thrown  away.^ 
Should  I  outlive  you,  I  should  then  outlive 
Virtue  and  honour ;  and  when  that  day  comes. 
If  ever  I  shall  close  these  eyes  but  once. 
May  I  live  spotted  for  my  perjury,  20 

And  waste  my  limbs  to  nothing  ! 

Are.  And  I  (the  wofuFst  maid  that  ever  was, 
Forced  with  my  hands  to  bring  my  lord  to  death) 
Do  by  the  honour  of  a  virgin  swear 
To  tell  no  hours  beyond  it ! 

Phi.  Make  me  not  hated  so. 

Are.  Come  from  this  prison  all  joyful  to  our  deaths  ! 

Phi.  People  will  tear  me,  when  they  find  you  true 
To  such  a  wretch  as  I ;  I  shall  die  loathed. 
Enjoy  your  kingdoms  peaceably,  whilst  I  30 

For  ever  sleep  forgotten  with  my  faults  : 
Every  just  servant,  every  maid  in  love. 
Will  have  a  piece  of  me,  if  you  be  true. 

Are.  My  dear  lord,  say  not  so. 

Bel.  A  piece  of  you  ! 
He  was  not  born  of  woman  that  can  cut 
It  and  look  on. 

Phi.  Take  me  in  tears  betwixt  you,  for  my  heart 
Will  break  with  shame  and  sorrow. 

Are.  Why,  'tis  well.  40 

1  One  of  the  loveliest  touches  in  the  play. 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  341 

Bel.  Lament  no  more. 

Phi.  Why,  what  would  you  have  done 
If  you  had  wronged  me  basely,  and  had  found 
Your  life  no  price  compared  to  mine  ?  for  love,  sirs, 
Deal  with  me  truly. 

Bel.  'Twas  mistaken,  sir. 

Phi.  Why,  if  it  were  ? 

Bel.  Then,  sir,  we  would  have  asked 
You  pardon. 

Phi.  And  have  hope  to  enjoy  it?  50 

Are.  Enjoy  it  !    ay. 

Phi.  Would  you  indeed  ?  be  plain. 

Bel.  We  would,  my  lord. 

Phi.  Forgive  me,  then. 

Are.  So,  so. 

Bel.  'Tis  as  it  should  be  now. 

Phi.  Lead  to  my  death.  {^Exeunt. 

Scene    III.  —  A  State-room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King,  Dion,  Cleremont,  Thrasiline,  and  Attendants. 

King.  Gentlemen,  who  saw  the  prince  ? 

Cle.  So  please  you,  sir,  he's  gone  to  see  the  city 
And  the  new  platform,  with  some  gentlemen 
Attending  on  him. 

King.  Is  the  princess  ready 
To  bring  her  prisoner  out  ? 

Thra.  She  waits  your  grace. 

King.  Tell  her  we  stay.  \_Exit  Thrasiline. 

Dion.  King,  you  may  be  deceived  yet : 
The  head  you  aim  at  cost  more  setting  on  10 

Than  to  be  lost  so  lightly.  —  {Aside)  If  it  must  off; 


342  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

Like  a  wild  overflow,  that  swoops  before  him 

A  golden  stack,  and  with  it  shakes  down  bridges, 

Cracks  the  strong  hearts  of  pines,  whose  cable-roots 

Held  out  a  thousand  storms,  a  thousand  thunders. 

And,  so  made  mightier,  takes  whole  villages 

Upon  his  back,  and  in  that  heat  of  pride 

Charges  strong  towns,  towers,  castles,  palaces, 

And  lays  them  desolate  ;  so  shall  thy  head. 

Thy  noble  head,  bury  the  lives  of  thousands,  20 

That  must  bleed  with  thee  like  a  sacrifice, 

In  thy  red  ruins. 

Enter  Arethusa,  Philaster,  Bellario  in  a  robe  and  gar- 
land, ^//^  Thrasiline. 

King.  How  now  ?  what  masque  is  this  ? 

Bel.  Right  royal  sir,  I  should 
Sing  you  an  epithalamium  of  these  lovers, 
But  having  lost  my  best  airs  with  my  fortunes. 
And  wanting  a  celestial  harp  to  strike 
This  blessed  union  on,  thus  in  glad  story 
I  give  you  all.     These  two  fair  cedar-branches 
The  noblest  of  the  mountain  where  they  grew,  30 

Straightest  and  tallest,  under  whose  still  shades 
The  worthier  beasts  have  made  their  lairs,  and  slept 
Free  from  the  fervour  of  the  Sirian  star 
And  the  fell  thunder- stroke,  free  from  the  clouds. 
When  they  were  big  with  humour,  and  delivered, 
In  thousand  spouts  their  issues  to  the  earth ; 
Oh,  there  was  none  but  silent  quiet  there  ! 
Till  never-pleased  Fortune  shot  up  shmbs. 
Base  under- brambles,  to  divorce  these  branches  ; 
And  for  a  while  they  did  so,  and  did  reign  40 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  343 

Over  the  mountain,  and  choke  ^  up  his  beauty 

With  brakes,  rude  thorns  and  thistles,  till  the  sun 

Scorched  them  even  to  the  roots  and  dried  them  there  : 

And  now  a  gentle  gale  hath  blown  again, 

That  made  these  branches  meet  and  twine  together, 

Never  to  be  divided.     The  god  that  sings 

His  holy  numbers  over  marriage-beds 

Hath  knit  their  noble  hearts ;  and  here  they  stand 

Your  children,  mighty  King :  and  I  have  done. 

King.  How,  how?  50 

Are.  Sir,  if  you  love  it  in  plain  truth, 
(For  now  there  is  no  masquing  in't,)  this  gentleman. 
The  prisoner  that  you  gave  me,  is  become 
My  keeper,  and  through  all  the  bitter  throes 
Your  jealousies  and  his  ill  fate  have  wrought  him, 
Thus  nobly  hath  he  struggled,  and  at  length 
Arrived  here  my  dear  husband. 

King.  Your  dear  husband  !  — 
Call  in  the  Captain  of  the  Citadel. — 

There  you  shall  keep  your  wedding.     I'll  provide  60 

A  masque  shall  make  your  Hymen  ^  turn  his  saffron 
Into  a  sullen  coat,  and  sing  sad  requiems 
To  your  departing  souls  ; 

Blood  shall  put  out  your  torches  ;  and,  instead 
Of  gaudy  flowers  about  your  wanton  necks. 
An  axe  shall  hang  like  a  prodigious  meteor, 
Ready  to  crop  your  loves'  sweets.     Hear,  ye  gods  ! 
From  this  time  do  I  shake  all  title  off 
Of  father  to  this  woman,  this  base  woman ; 
And  what  there  is  of  vengeance  in  a  lion  70 

1  Another  reading  is  cloak. 

2  In  old  masques  and  pageants,  Hymen  was  clothed  in  saffron. 


344  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

Chafed  ^  among  dogs  or  robbed  of  his  dear  young, 
The  same,  enforced  more  terrible,  more  mighty, 
Expect  from  me  ! 

Are.  Sir,  by  that  UtUe  life  I  have  left  to  swear  by, 
There's  nothing  that  can  stir  me  from  myself. 
What  I  have  done,  I  have  done  without  repentance  ; 
For  death  can  be  no  bugbear  unto  me, 
So  long  as  Pharamond  is  not  my  headsman. 

Dion  {aside).  Sweet  peace   upon   thy  soul,  thou  worthy 
maid. 
Whene'er  thou  diest !     For  this  time  I'll  excuse  thee,         80 
Or  be  thy  prologue. 

Phi.  Sir,  let  me  speak  next ; 
And  let  my  dying  words  be  better  with  you 
Than  my  dull  living  actions.     If  you  aim 
At  the  dear  life  of  this  sweet  innocent. 
You  are  a  tyrant  and  a  savage  monster, 
That  feeds  upon  the  blood  you  gave  a  Ufe  to ; 
Your  memory  shall  be  as  foul  behind  you. 
As  you  are,  living ;  all  your  better  deeds 
Shall  be  in  water  writ,  but  this  in  marble  ;  ^  90 

No  chronicle  shall  speak  you,  though  your  own, 
But  for  the  shame  of  men.     No  monument. 
Though  high  and  big  as  Pelion,  shall  be  able " 
To  cover  this  base  murder :  make  it  rich 
With  brass,  with  purest  gold  and  shining  jasper. 
Like  the  Pyramides ;  lay  on  epitaphs 
Such  as  make  great  men  gods ;  my  little  marble 

1  Variation,  cast. 

2  Cf.  Henry   VIII,  iv,  2,  —  a  play  in  which   Fletcher  collaborated  with 
Shakespeare :  — 

"  Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water." 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  345 

That  only  clothes  my  ashes,  not  my  faults, 

Shall  far  outshine  it.     And  for  after-issues, 

Think  not  so  madly  of  the  heavenly  wisdoms,  loo 

That  they  will  give  you  more  for  your  mad  rage 

To  cut  off,  unless  it  be  some  snake,  or  something 

Like  yourself,  that  in  his  birth  shall  strangle  you. 

Remember  my  father.  King  !  there  was  a  fault. 

But  I  forgive  it :  let  that  sin  persuade  you 

To  love  this  lady ;  if  you  have  a  soul, 

Think,  save  her,  and  be  saved.     For  myself, 

I  have  so  long  expected  this  glad  hour. 

So  languished  under  you,  and  daily  withered, 

That,  Heaven  knows,  it  is  a  joy  to  die  ;  no 

I  find  a  recreation  in't. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Gent  Where  is  the  King? 

King.  Here. 

Gent.  Get  you  to  your  strength. 
And  rescue  the  Prince  Pharamond  from  danger ; 
He's  taken  prisoner  by  the  citizens. 
Fearing  ^  the  Lord  Philaster. 

Dion  {aside) .  Oh,  brave  followers  ! 
Mutiny,  my  fine  dear  countrymen,  mutiny  ! 
Now,  my  brave  valiant  foremen,  shew  your  weapons  120 

In  honor  of  your  mistresses  ! 

Enter  a  Second  Gentleman. 

2d  Gent.  Arm,  arm,  arm,  arm  ! 

King.  A  thousand  devils  take  'em  ! 

Dion  {aside) .  A  thousand  blessings  on  'em  ! 

1  Fearing  for. 


346  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

2d  Gent.  Arm,  O  King  !     The  city  is  in  mutiny, 
Led  by  an  old  grey  ruffian,  who  comes  on 
In  rescue  of  the  Lord  Philaster. 

King.  Away  to  the  citadel !     I'll  see  them  safe, 
And  then  cope  with  these  burghers.     Let  the  guard 
And  all  the  gentlemen  give  strong  attendance.  130 

\Exeunt  all  except  Dion,  Cleremont,  and  Thrasiline. 

Cle.  The  city  up  !  this  was  above  our  wishes. 

Dion.  Ay,  and  the  marriage  too.     By  my  hfe, 
This  noble  lady  has  deceived  us  all. 
A  plague  upon  myself,  a  thousand  plagues. 
For  having  such  unworthy  thoughts  of  her  dear  honour  ! 
Oh,  I  could  beat  myself !  or  do  you  beat  me, 
And  I'll  beat  you ;  for  we  had  all  one  thought. 

Cle.  No,  no,  'twill  but  lose  time. 

Dion.  You  say  true.  Are  your  swords  sharp  ?  —  Well,  my 
dear  countrymen  What-ye-lacks/  if  you  continue,  and  fall  not 
back  upon  the  first  broken  shin,  I'll  have  you  chronicled  and 
chronicled,  and  cut  and  chronicled,  and  sung  in  all-to-be- 
praised  sonnets,  and  bawled  in  new  brave  ballads,  that  all 
tongues  shall  troul  ^  you  in  scecula  sceculorum,  my  kind  can- 
carriers.  145 

Thra.  What  if  a  toy^  take  'em  i'  the  heels  now,  and  they 
run  all  away,  and  cry,  "  the  devil  take  the  hindmost "? 

Dion.  Then  the  same  devil  take  the  foremost  too,  and 
souse  him  for  his  breakfast !  If  they  all  prove  cowards,  my 
curses  fly  amongst  them,  and  be  speeding  !  May  they  have 
murrains  rain  to  keep  the  gentlemen  at  home  unbound  in 
easy  frieze  !  may  the  moths  branch*  their  velvets,  and  their 

1  Shop-keepers  used  to  stand  before  their  doors  and  cry,  "  What-d'ye- 
lack  ?  "  to  the  passers-by. 

2  Troll,  sing  a  catch.  3  Freak.  ^  Eat  off  the  nap. 


SCENE  III.]  PHILASTER.  347 

silks  only  to  be  worn  before  sore  eyes  !  may  their  false  lights 
undo  'em,  and  discover  presses,  holes,  stains,  and  oldness  in 
their  stuffs,  and  make  them  shop-rid  !  may  they  live  mewed 
up  with  necks  of  beef  and  turnips  !  may  they  have  many 
children,  and  none  like  the  father  !  may  they  know  no  lan- 
guage but  that  gibberish  they  prattle  to  their  parcels,  unless 
it  be  the  goatish  ^  Latin  they  write  in  their  bonds  —  and  may 
they  write  that  false,  and  lose  their  debts  !  i6o 

Re-enter  King. 

King.  Now  the  vengeance  of  all  the  gods  confound  them  ! 
How  they  swarm  together !  what  a  hum  they  raise  !  — 
Devils  choke  your  wild  throats  !  If  a  man  had  need  to  use 
their  valours,  he  must  pay  a  brokage  ^  for  it,  and  then  bring 
'em  on,  and  they  will  fight  like  sheep.  'Tis  Philaster,  none 
but  Philaster,  must  allay  this  heat :  they  will  not  hear  me 
speak,  but  fling  dirt  at  me  and  call  me  tyrant.  Oh,  run, 
dear  friend,  and  bring  the  Lord  Philaster  !  speak  him  fair ; 
call  him  prince  ;  do  him  all  the  courtesy  you  can ;  commend 
me  to  him.    Oh,  my  wits,  my  wits  !     \_Exit  Cleremont.    170 

Dion  {aside) .  Oh,  my  brave  countrymen  !  as  I  live,  I  will 
not  buy  a  pin  out  of  your  walls  for  this  ;  nay,  you  shall  cozen 
me,  and  I'll  thank  you,  and  send  you  brawn  and  bacon,  and 
soil  you  every  long  vacation  a  brace  of  foremen,^  that  at 
Michaelmas  shall  come  up  fat  and  kicking. 

King.  What  they  will  do  with  this  poor  prince,  the  gods 
know,  and  I  fear. 

Dion.  Why,  sir,  they'll  flay  him,  and  make  church-buck- 

1  Barbarous ;  another  reading  is  Gothic. 

2  A  commission  alloA^ed  to  the  middleman  in  a  commercial  transaction. 

3  Fatten  a  brace  of  geese;  cf.  "  soiled  horse,"  in  King  Lear,  iv,  6,  124. 
Better  spelt  soul,  from  the  Old  French  saoler,  Mod.  French  soUUr, 


348  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

ets  ofs  skin,  to  quench  rebellion;  then  clap  a  rivet  in's 
sconce,  and  hang  him  up  for  a  sign.  i8o 

Enter  Philaster  and  Cleremont. 

King.  Oh,  worthy  sir,  forgive  me  !  do  not  make 
Your  miseries  and  my  faults  meet  together, 
To  bring  a  greater  danger.     Be  yourself, 
Still  sound  amongst  diseases.     I  have  wronged  you ; 
And  though  I  find  it  last,  and  beaten  to  it, 
Let  first  your  goodness  know  it.     Calm  the  people. 
And  be  what  you  were  born  to  :  take  your  love, 
And  with  her  my  repentance,  all  my  wishes 
And  all  my  prayers.     By  the  gods,  my  heart  speaks  this ; 
And  if  the  least  fall  from  me  not  performed,  190 

May  I  be  struck  with  thunder  ! 

Phi.  Mighty  sir, 
I  will  not  do  your  greatness  so  much  wrong. 
As  not  to  make  your  word  truth.     Free  the  princess 
And  the  poor  boy,  and  let  me  stand  the  shock 
Of  this  mad  sea-breach,  which  I'll  either  turn. 
Or  perish  with  it. 

King.  Let  your  own  word  free  them. 

Phi.  Then  thus  I  take  my  leave,  kissing  your  hand, 
And  hanging  on  your  royal  word.     Be  kingly,  200 

And  be  not  moved,  sir :  I  shall  bring  you  peace 
Or  never  bring  myself  back. 

King.  All  the  gods  go  with  thee.  \_Exeunt, 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  349 


Scene  IV.  — ^  Street. 

Enter  an  old  Captain  and  Citizens  with  Pharamond 
prisoner. 

Cap.  Come,  my  brave  myrmidons,  let  us  fall  on  ! 

Let  your  caps  swarm,  my  boys,  and  your  nimble  tongues 

Forget  your  mother  gibberish  of  "  what  do  you  lack," 

And  set  your  mouths  ope,  children,  till  your  palates 

Fall  frighted  half  a  fathom  past  the  cure 

Of  bay-salt  and  gross  pepper,  and  then  cry 

"  Philaster,  brave  Philaster  !  "     Let  Philaster 

Be  deeper  in  request,  my  ding-a-dings, 

My  pairs  of  dear  indentures,  kings  of  clubs,^ 

Than  your  cold  water-camlets,  or  your  paintings  10 

Spitted  with  copper.     Let  not  your  hasty  silks. 

Or  your  branched  cloth  of  bodkin,  or  your  tissues, 

Dearly  beloved  of  spiced  cake  and  custard, 

Your  Robin  Hoods,  Scarlets,  and  Johns,  tie  your  affections 

In  darkness  to  your  shops.     No,  dainty  duckers  ^ 

Up  with  your  three-piled  spirits,  your  wrought  valours  ^ ; 

And  let  your  uncut  cholers  make  the  King  feel 

The  measure  of  your  mightiness.     Philaster  ! 

Cry,  my  rose-nobles,''  cry  ! 

All.  Philaster!  Philaster!  20 

Cap.  How  do  you  like  this,  my  lord-prince  ? 

These  are  mad  boys,  I  tell  you ;  these  are  things 

1  London  shop-keepers  and  their  apprentices  commonly  used  clubs  as 
weapons. 

2  Cringers,  s  Play  on  the  word  velours,  velvet. 
4  Another  pun ;  rose-nobles  were  gold  coins  stamped  with  a  rose,  and 

worth  sixteen  shillings. 


350  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

That  will  not  strike  their  top-sails  to  a  foist/ 
And  let  a  man  of  war,  an  argosy, 
Hull  and  cry  cockles.^ 

Pha.  Why,  you  rude  slave,  do  you  know  what  you  do? 

Cap.  My  pretty  prince  of  puppets,  we  do  know ; 
And  give  your  greatness  warning  that  you  talk 
No  more  such  bug's-words,^  or  that  soldered  crown 
Shall  be  scratched  with  a  musket,*  30 

—  Let  him  loose,  my  spirits  : 

Make  us  a  round  ring  with  your  bills,^  my  Hectors, 
And  let  us  see  what  this  trim  man  dares  do. 
Now,  sir,  have  at  you  !  here  I  lie  ; 

And  with  this  swashing  blow  (do  you  see,  sweet  prince?) 
I  could  hock  ^  your  grace,  and  hang  you  up  cross-legged. 
Like  a  hare  at  a  poulter's,  and  do  this  with  this  wiper. 

Pha.  You  will  not  see  me  murdered,  wicked  villains  ? 

1st  Cit.  Yes,  indeed,  will  we,  sir ;  we  have  not  seen  one 
For  a  great  while.  40 

Cap.  He  would  have  weapons,  would  he  ? 
Give  him  a  broadside,  my  brave  boys,  with  your  pikes  3 
Branch^  me  his  skin  in  flowers  like  a  satin. 
And  between  every  flower  a  mortal  cut.  — 
Your  royalty  shall  ravel !  —  Jag  him,  gentlemen ; 
I'll  have  him  cut  to  the  kell,*  then  down  the  seams. 
O  for  a  whip  to  make  him  galloon-laces  ! 
I'll  have  a  coach- whip. 

Pha.  Oh,  spare  me,  gentlemen  ! 

Cap.  Hold,  hold ;  50 

1  A  small  craft ;  Italian  fusta.  2  Crow  over  them. 

3  Bombastic.  •*  A  small  hawk.  6  Battle-axes,  halberds. 

6  Ham-string.  ^  See  note,  p.  346. 

8  The  omentum,  or  adipose  membrane  attached  to  the  stomach. 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  35 1 

The  man  begins  to  fear  and  know  himself; 

He  shall  for  this  time  only  be  seeled  up/ 

With  a  feather  through  his  nose,  that  he  may  only 

See  heaven,  and  think  whither  he  is  going.     Nay, 

Nay,  my  beyond-sea  sir,  we  will  proclaim  you  : 

You  would  be  king  ! 

Thou  tender  heir  apparent  to  a  church-ale,^ 

Thou  slight  prince  of  single  sarcenet, 

Thou  royal  ring-tail,^  fit  to  fly  at  nothing 

But  poor  men's  poultry,  and  have  every  boy  60 

Beat  thee  from  that  too  with  his  bread  and  butter ! 

Pha.  Gods  keep  me  from  these  hell-hounds  ! 

1st  Cit.  I'll  have  a  leg,  that's  certain. 

2d  Cit.  I'll  have  an  arm. 

3d  Cit.  I'll  have  his  nose,  and  at  mine  own  charge  build 
A  college  and  clap  it  upon  the  gate,'' 

4th  Cit.  Good  captain,  let   me   have   his   liver   to   feed 
ferrets. 

Cap.  Who  will  have  parcels  else  ?  speak. 

Pha.  Good  gods,  consider  me  !     I  shall  be  tortured. 

1st  Cit.  Captain,  I'll  give  you  the  trimming  of  your  two- 
hand  sword,  70 
And  let  me  have  his  skin  to  make  false  scabbards. 

2d  Cit.  He  had  no  horns,  sir,  had  he  ? 

Cap.  No,  sir,  he's  a  pollard  : 
What  wouldst  thou  do  with  horns  ? 

2d  Cit.  Oh,  if  he  had  had, 
I  would  have  made  rare  hafts  and  whistles  of  'em ; 

1  To  close  the  eyelids,  as  of  a  hawk,  by  passing  a  fine  thread  through 
them. 

2  Festival  at  the  dedication  of  a  church.  8  Female  of  the  hen  harrier. 
4  Allusion  to  Brazen  Nose  College,  Oxford. 


352  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

But  his  shin-bones,  if  they  be  sound,  shall  serve  me. 
Enter  Philaster. 

All.  Long  live  Philaster,  the  brave  Prince  Philaster ! 

Phi.  I  thank  you,  gentlemen.     But  why  are  these 
Rude  weapons  brought  abroad,  to  teach  your  hands  80 

Uncivil  trades  ? 

Cap.  My  royal  Rosicleer,^ 
We  are  thy  myrmidons,  thy  guard,  thy  roarers  ^ ; 
And  when  thy  noble  body  is  in  durance, 
Thus  do  we  clap  our  musty  murrions  ^  on. 
And  trace  the  streets  in  terror.     Is  it  peace. 
Thou  Mars  of  men  ?  is  the  King  sociable, 
And  bids  thee  live?  art  thou  above  thy  foemen. 
And  free  as  Phoebus?  speak.     If  not,  this  stand 
Of  royal  blood  shall  be  a-broach,  a-tilt,  90 

And  run  even  to  the  lees  of  honour. 

Phi.  Hold,  and  be  satisfied  :  I  am  myself 
Free  as  my  thoughts  are  :  by  the  gods,  I  am  ! 

Cap.  Art  thou  the  dainty  darling  of  the  King? 
Art  thou  the  Hylas  to  our  Hercules  ? 
Do  the  lords  bow,  and  the  regarded  scarlets 
Kiss   their   gummed   golls,*  and  cry  "We   are   your   ser- 
vants "  ? 
Is  the  court  navigable,  and  the  presence  stuck 
With  flags  of  friendship  ?     If  not,  we  are  thy  castle. 
And  this  man  sleeps.  100 

Phi.  I  am  what  I  desire  to  be,  your  friend ; 
I  am  what  I  was  born  to  be,  your  prince. 

1  A  character  in  The  Mirror  of  Knighthood. 

2  Cant  name  for  street  ruffians. 

8  Morions,  steel  caps.  ■*  Hands  rubbed  with  gutn  or  perfume. 


SCENE  IV.]  PHILASTER.  353 

Pha.  Sir,  there  is  some  humanity  in  you  ; 
You  have  a  noble  soul :  forget  my  name, 
And  know  my  misery  :  set  me  safe  aboard 
From  these  wild  cannibals,  and,  as  I  live, 
I'll  quit  this  land  for  ever.     There  is  nothing,  — 
Perpetual  prisonment,  cold,  hunger,  sickness 
Of  all  sorts,  of  all  dangers,  and  all  together. 
The  worst  company  of  the  worst  men,  madness,  age,  no 

To  be  as  many  creatures  as  a  woman. 
And  do  as  all  they  do,  nay,  to  despair,  — 
But  I  would  rather  make  it  a  new  nature, 
And  live  with  all  those,  than  endure  one  hour 
Amongst  these  wild  dogs. 

Phi,  I  do  pity  you.  —  Friends,  discharge  your  fears  ; 
Deliver  me  the  prince  :  I'll  warrant  you 
I  shall  be  old  enough  to  find  my  safety. 

3d  Cit.  Good  sir,  take  heed  he  does  not  hurt  you ; 
He  is  a  fierce  man,  I  can  tell  you,  sir.  120 

Cap.  Prince,  by  your  leave,  I'll  have  a  surcingle, 
And  mail  ^  you  like  a  hawk. 

Phi.  Away,  away,  there  is  no  danger  in  him  : 
Alas,  he  had  rather  sleep  to  shake  his  fit  off ! 
Look  you,  friends,  how  gently  he  leads  !     Upon  my  word. 
He's  tame  enough,  he  needs  no  further  watching. 
Good  my  friends,  go  to  your  houses. 
And  by  me  have  your  pardons  and  my  love ; 
And  know  there  shall  be  nothing  in  my  power 
You  may  deserve,  but  you  shall  have  your  wishes  :  13c 

To  give  you  more  thanks,  were  to  flatter  you. 
Continue  still  your  love  ;  and,  for  an  earnest. 
Drink  this.  [  Gives  money, 

1  To  tie  up  a  falcon's  pinions. 


354  PHILASTER.  [act  v. 

All.  Long  mayst  thou  live,  brave  prince,  brave  prince, 
brave  prince  !  \_Exeunt  Phil,  and  Phar. 

Cap.  Go  thy  ways,  thou  art  the  king  of  courtesy  ! 
Fall  off  again,  my  sweet  youths.     Come, 
And  every  man  trace  to  his  house  again. 
And  hang  his  pewter  up  ;  then  to  the  tavern, 
And  bring  your  wives  in  muffs.     We  will  have  music ; 
And  the  red  grape  shall  make  us  dance  and  rise,  boys.      140 

\Exeunt} 

Scene  V.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King,  Arethusa,   Galatea,   Megra,   Dion,  Clere- 
MONT,  Thrasiline,  Bellario,  and  Attendants. 

King.  Is  it  appeased? 

Dion.  Sir,  all  is  quiet  as  this  dead  of  night, 
As  peaceable  as  sleep.     My  lord  Philaster 
Brings  on  the  prince  himself. 

King.  Kind  gentleman  ! 
I  will  not  break  the  least  word  I  have  given 
In  promise  to  him  :  I  have  heaped  a  world 
Of  grief  upon  his  head,  which  yet  I  hope 
To  wash  away. 

Enter  Philaster  and  Pharamond. 

Cle.  My  lord  is  come.  10 

King.  My  son  ! 
Blest  be  the  time  that  I  have  leave  to  call 
Such  virtue  mine  !     Now  thou  art  in  mine  arms, 

1  The  speeches  of  the  Captain,  with  their  puns  and  strained  metaphors, 
may  have  seemed  wilty  once,  but  their  wit  evaporated  long  ago.  Fashion  in 
fun  varies  from  age  to  age ;  wisdom,  pathos,  sublimity,  are  more  permanent. 


SCENE  v.]  PHILASTER.  355 

Methinks  I  have  a  salve  unto  my  breast 

For  all  the  stings  that  dwell  there.     Streams  of  grief 

That  I  have  wronged  thee,  and  as  much  of  joy 

That  I  repent  it,  issue  from  mine  eyes : 

Let  them  appease  thee.     Take  thy  right ;  take  her ; 

She  is  thy  right  too ;  and  forget  to  urge 

My  vexed  soul  with  that  I  did  before.  20 

Phi.  Sir,  it  is  blotted  from  my  memory. 
Past  and  forgotten.  —  For  you,  prince  of  Spain, 
Whom  I  have  thus  redeemed,  you  have  full  leave 
To  make  an  honourable  voyage  home. 
And  if  you  would  go  furnished  to  your  realm 
With  fair  provision,  I  do  see  a  lady, 
Methinks,  would  gladly  bear  you  company : 
How  like  you  this  piece  ? 

Meg.  Sir,  he  likes  it  well. 
I  know  your  meaning.  30 

Can  shame  remain  perpetually  in  me, 
And  not  in  others  ?  or  have  princes  salves 
To  cure  ill  names,  that  meaner  people  want  ? 

Phi.  What  mean  you? 

Meg.  You  must  get  another  ship. 
To  bear  the  princess  and  her  boy  together. 

Dion.  How  now  ! 

Meg.  Ship  us  all  four,  my  lord ;  we  can  endure 
Weather  and  wind  alike. 

Ki7ig.  Clear  thou  thyself,  or  know  not  me  for  father.       40 

Are.  This  earth,   how  false  it  is  !     What  means  is  left 
for  me 
To  clear  myself?     It  lies  in  your  belief : 
My  lords,  believe  me  ;  and  let  all  things  else 
Struggle  together  to  dishonour  me. 


356  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

Bel.  Oh,  stop  your  ears,  great  King,  that  I  may  speak 
As  freedom  would  !  then  I  will  call  this  lady 
As  base  as  are  her  actions  :  hear  me,  sir ; 
Believe  your  heated  blood  when  it  rebels 
Against  your  reason,  sooner  than  this  lady. 

Meg,  By  this  good  light,  he  bears  it  handsomely.  50 

Phi.  This  lady  !     I  will  sooner  trust  the  wind 
With  feathers,  or  the  troubled  sea  with  pearl, 
Than  her  with  any  thing.     Believe  her  not. 
Why,  think  you,  if  I  did  believe  her  words, 
I  would  outlive  'em  ?     Honour  cannot  take 
Revenge  on  you  ;  then  what  were  to  be  known 
But  death  ? 

King.  Forget  her,  sir,  since  all  is  knit 
Between  us.  But  I  must  request  of  you 
One  favour,  and  will  sadly  be  denied.  60 

Phi.  Command,  whate'er  it  be. 

King.  Swear  to  be  true 
To  what  you  promise. 

Phi.  By  the  powers  above. 
Let  it  not  be  the  death  of  her  or  him, 
And  it  is  granted  ! 

Ki7ig.  Bear  away  that  boy 
To  torture  :  I  will  have  her  cleared  or  buried. 

Phi.  Oh,  let  me  call  my  word  back,  worthy  sir  ! 
Ask  something  else  :  bury  my  life  and  right  70 

In  one  poor  grave ;  but  do  not  take  away 
My  life  and  fame  at  once. 

King.  Away  with  him  !     It  stands  irrevocable. 

Phi.  Turn  all  your  eyes  on  me  :  here  stands  a  man, 
The  falsest  and  the  basest  of  this  world. 
Set  swords  against  this  breast,  some  honest  man. 


SCENE  v.]  PHILASTER.  35  7 

For  I  have  lived  till  I  am  pitied  ! 

My  former  deeds  were  hateful ;  but  this  last 

Is  pitiful,  for  I  unwiUingly 

Have  given  the  dear  preserver  of  my  life  80 

Unto  his  torture.     Is  it  in  the  power 

Of  flesh  and  blood  to  carry  this,  and  live  ? 

[  Offers  to  stab  himself. 

Are.  Dear  sir,  be  patient  yet !     Oh,  stay  that  hand  ! 

King.  Sirs,  strip  that  boy. 

Dion.  Come,  sir,  your  tender  flesh 
Will  try  your  constancy. 

Bel.  Oh,  kill  me,  gentlemen  ! 

Dion.  No.  —  Help,  sirs. 

Bel.  Will  you  torture  me  ? 

King.  Haste  there ;  90 

Why  stay  you  ? 

Bel.  Then  I  shall  not  break  my  vow. 
You  know,  just  gods,  though  I  discover  all. 

King,  How's  that  ?  will  he  confess  ? 

Dion.  Sir,  so  he  says. 

King.  Speak  then. 

Bel.  Great  King,  if  you  command 
This  lord  to  talk  with  me  alone,  my  tongue. 
Urged  by  my  heart,  shall  utter  all  the  thoughts 
My  youth  hath  known ;  and  stranger  things  than  these       100 
You  hear  not  often. 

King.  Walk  aside  with  him. 

[Dion  and  Bellario  walk  apart. 

Dion.  Why  speak'st  thou  not  ? 

Bel.  Know  you  this  face,  my  lord  ? 

Dion.  No. 

Bel.  Have  you  not  seen  it,  nor  the  like  ? 


358  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

Dion.  Yes,  I  have  seen  the  hke,  but  readily 
I  know  not  where. 

Bel.  I  have  been  often  told 
In  court  of  one  Euphrasia,  a  lady,  no 

And  daughter  to  you  ;  betwixt  whom  and  me 
They  that  would  flatter  my  bad  face  would  swear 
There  was  such  strange  resemblance,  that  we  two 
Could  not  be  known  asunder,  drest  alike. 

Dion.  By  Heaven,  and  so  there  is  ! 

Bel.  For  her  fair  sake, 
Who  now  doth  spend  the  spring-time  of  her  life 
In  holy  pilgrimage,  move  to  the  King, 
That  I  may  scape  this  torture. 

Dion.  But  thou  speak'st  120 

As  like  Euphrasia  as  thou  dost  look. 
How  came  it  to  thy  knowledge  that  she  lives 
In  pilgrimage? 

Bel.  I  know  it  not,  my  lord  ; 
But  I  have  heard  it,  and  do  scarce  believe  it. 

Dion.  Oh,  my  shame  !  is  it  possible?     Draw  near. 
That  I  may  gaze  upon  thee.     Art  thou  she. 
Or  else  her  murderer  ?  ^  where  wert  thou  born  ? 

Bel.  In  Syracusa. 

Dion.  What's  thy  name  ?  130 

Bel.  Euphrasia. 

Dion.  Oh,  'tis  just,  'tis  she  ! 
Now  I  do  know  thee.     Oh,  that  thou  hadst  died, 
And  I  had  never  seen  thee  nor  my  shame  ! 
How  shall  I  own  thee  ?   shall  this  tongue  of  mine 
E'er  call  thee  daughter  more? 

1  In  some  countries  the  superstitious  believed  that  the  murderer  inherited 
the  form  and  qualities  of  his  victim. 


SCENE  v.]  PHILASTER.  359 

BeL  Would  I  had  died  indeed  !     I  wish  it  too  : 
And  so  I  must  have  done  by  vow,  ere  pubHshed 
What  I  have  told,  but  that  there  was  no  means 
To  hide  it  longer.     Yet  I  joy  in  this,  140 

The  princess  is  all  clear. 

King.  What,  have  you  done? 

Dion,  All  is  discovered. 

Phi.  Why  then  hold  you  me  ?         [  Offers  to  stab  himself. 
All  is  discovered  !     Pray  you,  let  me  go. 

King.  Stay  him. 

Are.  What  is  discovered? 

Dion.  Why,  my  shame. 
It  is  a  woman  :  let  her  speak  the  rest. 

Phi.  How  ?   that  again  !  150 

Dion.  It  is  a  woman. 

Phi.  Blessed  be  you  powers  that  favour  innocence  ! 

King.  Lay  hold  upon  that  lady.  [Megra  is  seized. 

Phi.  It  is  a  woman,  sir  !  —  Hark,  gentlemen, 
It  is  a  woman  !  —  Arethusa,  take 
My  soul  into  thy  breast,  that  would  be  gone 
With  joy.     It  is  a  woman  !     Thou  art  fair. 
And  virtuous  still  to  ages,  in  despite 
Of  malice. 

King.  Speak  you,  where  lies  his  shame  ?  160 

Bel.  I  am  his  daughter. 

Phi.  The  gods  are  just. 

Dion.  I  dare  accuse  none ;  but,  before  you  two, 
The  virtue  of  our  age,  I  bend  my  knee 
For  mercy.  \_Kneels. 

Phi,  {raising  him).  Take  it  freely;  for  I  know, 
Though  what  thou  didst  were  undiscreetly  done, 
'Twas  meant  well. 


360  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

Are.  And  for  me, 
I  have  a  power  to  pardon  sins,  as  oft  170 

As  any  man  has  power  to  wrong  me. 

Cle.  Noble  and  worthy  ! 

Phi.  But,  Bellario, 
(For  I  must  call  thee  still  so,)  tell  me  why 
Thou  didst  conceal  thy  sex.     It  was  a  fault, 
A  fault,  Bellario,  though  thy  other  deeds 
Of  truth  outweighed  it :  all  these  jealousies 
Had  flown  to  nothing,  if  thou  hadst  discovered 
What  now  we  know. 

Bel.  My  father  oft  would  speak  180 

Your  worth  and  virtue ;  and,  as  I  did  grow 
More  and  more  apprehensive,  I  did  thirst 
To  see  the  man  so  praised.     But  yet  all  this 
Was  but  a  maiden- longing,  to  be  lost 
As  soon  as  found  ;  till,  sitting  in  my  window, 
Printing  my  thoughts  in  lawn,  I  saw  a  god, 
I  thought,  (but  it  was  you,)  enter  our  gates  : 
My  blood  flew  out  and  back  again,  as  fast 
As  I  had  puffed  it  forth  and  sucked  it  in 
Like  breath  :  then  was  I  called  away  in  haste  190 

To  entertain  you.     Never  was  a  man. 
Heaved  from  a  sheep-cote  to  a  sceptre,  raised 
So  high  in  thoughts  as  I :  you  left  a  kiss 
Upon  these  lips  then,  which  I  mean  to  keep 
From  you  for  ever :  I  did  hear  you  talk. 
Far  above  singing.     After  you  were  gone, 
I  grew  acquainted  with  my  heart,  and  searched 
What  stirred  it  so  :  alas,  I  found  it  love  ! 
Yet  far  from  lust ;  for,  could  I  but  have  lived 
In  presence  of  you,  I  had  had  my  end.  200 


SCENE  v.]  PHILASTER.  361 

For  this  I  did  delude  my  noble  father 

With  a  feigned  pilgrimage,  and  dressed  myself 

In  habit  of  a  boy ;  and,  for  I  knew 

My  birth  no  match  for  you,  I  was  past  hope 

Of  having  you  ;  and,  understanding  well 

That  when  I  made  discovery  of  my  sex 

I  could  not  stay  with  you,  I  made  a  vow, 

By  all  the  most  religious  things  a  maid 

Could  call  together,  never  to  be  known, 

Whilst  there  was  hope  to  hide  me  from  men's  eyes,  210 

For  other  than  I  seemed,  that  I  might  ever 

Abide  with  you.     Then  sat  I  by  the  fount, 

Where  first  you  took  me  up. 

King.  Search  out  a  match 
Within  our  kingdom,  where  and  when  thou  wilt. 
And  I  will  pay  thy  dowry ;  and  thyself 
Wilt  well  deserve  him. 

Bel.    Never,  sir,  will  I 
Marry ;  it  is  a  thing  within  my  vow  : 

But,  if  I  may  have  leave  to  serve  the  princess,  220 

To  see  the  virtues  of  her  lord  and  her, 
I  shall  have  hope  to  live. 

Are.  I,  Philaster, 
Cannot  be  jealous,  though  you  had  a  lady 
Drest  like  a  page  to  serve  you ;  nor  will  I 
Suspect  her  living  here.  —  Come,  live  with  me  ; 
Live  free  as  I  do.     She  that  loves  my  lord, 
Cursed  be  the  wife  that  hates  her  ! 

Phi.  I  grieve  such  virtue  should  be  laid  in  earth 
Without  an  heir.  —  Hear  me,  my  royal  father  :  230 

Wrong  not  the  freedom  of  our  souls  so  much. 
To  think  to  take  revenge  of  that  base  woman ; 


362  PHILASTER.  [ACT  V. 

Her  malice  cannot  hurt  us.     Set  her  free 
As  she  was  born,  saving  from  shame  and  sin. 

King.  Set  her  at  liberty.     But  leave  the  court ; 
This  is  no  place  for  such.  —  You,  Pharamond, 
Shall  have  free  passage,  and  a  conduct  home 
Worthy  so  great  a  prince.     When  you  come  there, 
Remember  'twas  your  faults  that  lost  you  her, 
And  not  my  purposed  will.  240 

Pha.  I  do  confess. 
Renowned  sir. 

King.  Last,  join  your  hands  in  one.     Enjoy,  Philaster, 
This  kingdom,  which  is  yours,  and,  after  me. 
Whatever  I  call  mine.     My  blessing  on  you  ! 
All  happy  hours  be  at  your  marriage-joys. 
That  you  may  grow  yourselves  over  all  lands. 
And  live  to  see  your  plenteous  branches  spring 
Wherever  there  is  sun  !     Let  princes  learn 
By  this  to  rule  the  passions  of  their  blood  ;  250 

For  what  Heaven  wills  can  never  be  withstood. 

[  Curtain  falls} 

1  Of  Euphrasia,  disguised  as  Bellario,  Dyce  says :  "  She  is  one  of  our 
authors'  most  perfect  creations,  —  unequalled  in  the  romantic  tenderness 
and  the  deep  devotedness  of  her  affection  by  any  character  which  at  all 
resembles  her  in  the  wide  range  of  fiction,  from  her  supposed  prototype, 
the  Viola  of  Shakespeare,  down  to  the  Constance  of  Scott  and  the  Kaled 
of  Byron;" 


IV. 
THE   TWO   NOBLE    KINSMEN. 

By  John  Fletcher  and  William  Shakespeare. 

Probably  written  between  1608  and  161 2.  The  story  is  bor- 
rowed from  The  Knighte's  Tale  of  Chaucer,  who  took  it  from 
Boccaccio's  Teseide. 


THE   TWO    NOBLE    KINSMEN. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Theseus,  Duke  of  Athens. 

PiRiTHOUS,  an  Athenian  General. 

ARTESIUS,  an  Athenian  Captain. 

Palamon,  )  Nephews    to   Creon, 

Arcite,      J      King  of  Thebes. 

Valerius,  a  Theban  Nobleman. 

Six  Knights. 

A  Herald. 

A  Gaoler. 

Wooer  to  the  Gaoler's  Daughter. 

A  Doctor. 

Brother  to  the  Gaoler. 

Friends  to  the  Gaoler. 


A  Gentleman. 

Gerrold,  a  Schoolmaster. 

HiPPOLYTA,  Bride  to  Theseus. 

Emilia,  her  Sister. 

Three  Queens. 

The  Gaoler's  Daughter. 

Waiting-woman  to  Emilia. 

Countrymen,  Messengers,  a  Man 
personating  Hymen,  Boy,  Execu- 
tioners, Guard,  and  Attendants, 
Country  Wenches,  and  Women 
personating  Nymphs. 


Scene  :  Athens  and  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  in  part  of  the  first  act,  Thebes 
and  the  neighbourhood. 


PROLOGUE. 


Chaucer,  of  all  admir'd,  the  story  gives ; 

There  constant  to  eternity  it  lives. 

If  we  let  fall  the  nobleness  of  this, 

And  the  first  sound  this  child  hear  be  a  hiss, 

How  will  it  shake  the  bones  of  that  good  man, 


365 


366  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  I. 

And  make  him  cry  from  under  ground,  "  O,  fan 

From  me  the  witless  chaff  of  such  a  writer 

That  blasts  my  bays,  and  my  fam'd  works  makes  lighter 

Than  Robin  Hood  !  "     This  is  the  fear  we  bring ; 

For,  to  say  truth,  it  were  an  endless  thing,  lo 

And  too  ambitious,  to  aspire  to  him. 

Weak  as  we  are,  and  almost  breathless  swim 

In  this  deep  water,  do  but  you  hold  out 

Your  helping  hands,  and  we  shall  tack  about. 

And  something  do  to  save  us  :  you  shall  hear 

Scenes,  though  below  his  art,  may  yet  appear 

Worth  two  hours'  travail.     To  his  bones  sweet  sleep  ! 

Content  to  you  !  —  If  this  play  do  not  keep 

A  Httle  dull  time  from  us,  we  perceive 

Our  losses  fall  so  thick,  we  needs  must  leave.     {^Flourish.  20 


ACT  \} 

Scene  I.  —  Athens.    Before  a  Temple. 

Enter  Hymen,  with  a  torch  burning-,  a  Boy,  in  a  white 
robe,  before^  singing  and  strewing  flowers  ;  after  Hymen, 
a  Nymph,  encompassed  in  her  tresses^  bearing  a  wheaten 
garland;  then  Theseus,  between  two  other  Nymphs  with 
wheaten  chaplets  on  their  heads;  then  Hippolyta,  the 
bride,  led  by  Pirithous,  and  another  holding  a  garland 
over  her  head,  her  tresses  likewise  hanging;  after  her, 
Emilia,  holding  up  her  train  ;  Artesius  and  Attendants. 

1  The  First  Act  is  attributed  to  Shakespeare  by  most  of  the  critics. 

2  Emblem  of  virginity. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  367 

The  Song.  [Music 

Roses,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone, 
Not  royal  in  their  smells  alone, 

But  in  their  hue ; 
Maiden  ^  pinks,  of  odour  faint. 
Daisies  smell-less,  yet  most  quaint. 

And  sweet  thyme  true ; 

Primrose,  first-born  child  of  Ver, 
Merry  spring-time's  harbinger, 

With  her  bells  dim; 
Oxlips  in  their  cradles  growing,  10 

Marigolds  on  death-beds  blowing. 

Larks' -heels'^  trim  ; 

All  dear  Nature's  children  sweet. 
Lie  fore  bride  and  bridegroom's  feet. 

Blessing  their  sense!         [Strewing  flowers. 
Not  an  angel  of  the  air,  — 
Bird  melodious,  or  bird  fair, — 

Be  absent  hence! 

The  crow,  the  slanderous  cuckoo,  nor 

77ie  boding  raven,  nor  chough  hoar,  ao 

Nor  chattering  pie. 
May  on  our  bride-house  perch  or  sing. 
Or  with  them  any  discord  bring. 

But  from  it  fiy  !^ 

1  Fresh;  also  used  for  strewing  on  the  grave  of  a  maiden,  or  faithful 
wife. 

2  Small  Indian  cress,  or  nasturtium. 

8  Dowden,  Nicholson,  Hargrove,  and  Furnivall  think  Shakespeare  did 
not  write  this  song ;  Littledale  is  in  doubt. 


368  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  I. 

Enter  three  Queens,  in  black,  with  veils  stained,  and  with 
imperial  crowns.  The  First  Q}itQn  falls  down  at  the  foot 
of  Theseus  ;  the  Second  falls  down  at  the  foot  of  HiP- 
POLYTA ;  the  Third  before  Emilia. 

1st  Queen.  For  pity's  sake  and  true  gentility's, 
Hear  and  respect  me  ! 

2d  Queen.  For  your  mother's  sake. 

And  as  you  wish  yourself  may  thrive  with  fair  ones, 
Hear  and  respect  me  ! 

^d  Quee7t.  Now  for   the  love   of  him  whom   Jove   hath 
mark'd 
The  honour  of  your  bed,  and  for  the  sake  30 

Of  clear  virginity,  be  advocate 
For  us,  and  our  distresses  !     This  good  deed 
Shall  raze  ^  you  out  o'  the  book  of  trespasses 
All  you  are  set  down  there. 

Theseus.  Sad  lady,  rise. 

Hippolyta.  Stand  up. 

Emilia.  No  knees  to  me  ! 

What  woman  I  may  stead,^  that  is  distress'd 
Does  bind  me  to  her. 

Theseus.  What's  your  request?     Deliver  you  for  all. 

1st  Queen.  We  are   three  queens,  whose  sovereigns  fell 
before 
The  wrath  of  cruel  Creon  ;  who  endure  40 

The  beaks  of  ravens,  talons  of  the  kites, 
And  pecks  of  crows,  in  the  foul  fields  of  Thebes. 
He  will  not  suffer  us  to  burn  their  bones, 
To  urn  their  ashes,  nor  to  take  the  offence 
Of  mortal  loathsomeness  from  the  blest  eye 

1  Erase  for  you.  2  Help. 


SCENE  i.J  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  369 

Of  holy  Phoebus,  but  infects  the  winds 

With  stench  of  our  slain  lords.     O,  pity,  duke  ! 

Thou  purger  of  the  earth,  draw  thy  fear'd  sword. 

That  does  good  turns  to  the  world ;  give  us  the  bones 

Of  our  dead  kings,  that  we  may  chapel  them  !  50 

And,  of  thy  boundless  goodness,  take  some  note 

That  for  our  crowned  heads  we  have  no  roof 

Save  this,  which  is  the  lion's  and  the  bear's, 

And  vault  to  everything  ! 

Theseus.  Pray  you,  kneel  not ; 

I  was  transported  with  your  speech,  and  suffer'd 
Your  knees  to  wrong  themselves.     I  have  heard  the  fortunes 
Of  your  dead  lords,  which  gives  me  such  lamenting 
As  wakes  my  vengeance  and  revenge  for  'em. 
King  Capaneus  ^  was  your  lord  :  the  day 
That  he  should  marry  you,  at  such  a  season  60 

As  now  it  is  with  me,  I  met  your  groom 
By  Mars's  altar ;  you  were  that  time  fair, 
Not  Juno's  mantle  fairer  than  your  tresses. 
Nor  in  more  bounty  spread  her ;  your  wheaten  wreath 
Was  then  nor  thresh'd  nor  blasted  ;  Fortune  at  you 
Dimpled  her  cheek  with  smiles  ;  Hercules  our  kinsman  — 
Then  weaker  than  your  eyes  —  laid  by  his  club ; 
He  tumbled  do\vn  upon  his  Nemean  hide. 
And  swore  his  sinews  thaw'd.     O  grief  and  time. 
Fearful  consumers,  you  will  all  devour  !  70 

1st  Queen.  O,  I  hope  some  god. 
Some  god  hath  put  his  mercy  in  your  manhood. 
Whereto  he'll  infuse  power,  and  press  you  forth 
Our  undertaker  ! 

Theseus.  O,  no  knees,  none,  widow ! 

1  One  of  the  seven  heroes  who  marched  from  Argos  against  Thebes. 


370  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  I. 

Unto  the  helmeted  Bellona^  use  them, 

And  pray  for  me,  your  soldier.  — 

Troubled  I  am.  [^Turns  away. 

2d  Queen.         Honour'd  Hippolyta, 
Most  dreaded  Amazonian,  that  hast  slain 
The  scythe-tusk'd  boar ;  that,  with  thy  arm  as  strong 
As  it  is  white,  wast  near  to  make  the  male  80 

To  thy  sex  captive,  but  that  this  thy  lord  — 
Born  to  uphold  creation  in  that  honour 
First  nature  styl'd  it  in  —  shrunk  thee  into 
The  bound  thou  wast  o'erflowing,  at  once  subduing. 
Thy  force  and  thy  affection  ;  soldieress. 
That  equally  canst  poise  sternness  with  pity ; 
Who,  now,  I  know,  hast  much  more  power  on  him 
Than  e'er  he  had  on  thee ;  who  ow'st  his  strength 
And  his  love  too,  who  is  a  servant^  for 

The  tenour  of  thy  speech  ;  dear  glass  of  ladies,  90 

Bid  him  that  we,  whom  flaming  war  doth  scorch, 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  sword  may  cool  us ; 
Require  him  he  advance  it  o'er  our  heads. 
Speak't  in  a  woman's  key,  like  such  a  woman 
As  any  of  us  three  ;  weep  ere  you  fail ; 
Lend  us  a  knee  ; 

But  touch  the  ground  for  us  no  longer  time 
Than  a  dove's  motion  when  the  head's  pluck'd  off; 
Tell  him,  if  he  i'  the  blood-siz'd^  field  lay  swoln, 
Showing  the  sun  his  teeth,  grinning  at  the  moon,  100 

What  you  would  do  ! 

Hippolyta.  Poor  lady,  say  no  more  ; 

I  had  as  lief  trace  this  good  action  with  you 

1  The  Roman  goddess  of  war. 

2  Obedient  lover.  8  Made  sticky  with  blood. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  371 

As  that  whereto  I'm  going,  and  ne'er  yet 
Went  I  so  wilHng  way.     My  lord  is  taken 
Heart-deep  with  your  distress  :  let  him  consider ; 
I'll  speak  anon. 

3d  Queen.         O,  my  petition  was  [Kneels  to  Emilia. 

Set  down  in  ice,  which  by  hot  grief  uncandied,^ 
Melts  into  drops  ;  so  sorrow,  wanting  form, 
Is  press'd  with  deeper  matter. 

Emilia.  Pray  stand  up  ; 

Your  grief  is  written  in  your  cheek. 

3d  Queen.  O,  woe  !  no 

You  cannot  read  it  there  ;  there,  through  my  tears, 
Like  wrinkled  pebbles  in  a  glassy  stream. 
You  may  behold  'em  !     Lady,  lady,  alack. 
He  that  will  all  the  treasure  know  o'  the  earth. 
Must  know  the  centre  too  ;  he  that  will  fish 
For  my  least  minnow,  let  him  lead  his  line 
To  catch  one  at  my  heart.     O,  pardon  me  ! 
Extremity,  that  sharpens  sundry  wits. 
Makes  me  a  fool. 

Emilia.  Pray  you,  say  nothing,  pray  you  ; 

Who  cannot  feel  nor  see  the  rain,  being  in't  120 

Knows  neither  wet  nor  dry.     If  that  you  were 
The  ground-piece  of  some  painter,  I  would  buy  you, 
T'  instruct  me  'gainst  a  capital  grief  indeed,  — 
Such  heart-pierc'd  demonstration  !  —  but,  alas, 
Being  a  natural^  sister  of  our  sex, 
Your  sorrow  beats  so  ardently  upon  me, 
That  it  shall  make  a  counter-reflect  'gainst 
My  brother's  heart,  and  warm  it  to  some  pity 
Though  it  were  made  of  stone ;  pray  have  good  comfort ! 

1  Dissolved.  2  Real,  not  feigned. 


372  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  I. 

Theseus,  Forward  to  the  temple  !  leave  not  out  a  jot     130 
O'  the  sacred  ceremony. 

1st  Queen.  O,  this  celebration 

Will  longer  last,  and  be  more  costly,  than 
Your  suppUants'  war  !     Remember  that  your  fame 
Knolls  in  the  ear  o'  the  world.     What  you  do  quickly 
Is  not  done  rashly ;  your  first  thought  is  more 
Than  others'  labour'd  meditance  ;  your  premeditating 
More  than  their  actions  ;  but  —  O  Jove  !  — your  actions, 
Soon  as  they  move,  as  ospreys  do  the  fish/ 
Subdue  before  they  touch.     Think,  dear  duke,  think 
What  beds  our  slain  kings  have  ! 

2d  Queen,  What  griefs  our  beds,    140 

That  our  dear  lords  have  none  ! 

3d  Queen,  None  fit  for  the  dead  ! 

Those  that,  with  cords,  knives,  drams,  precipitance,^ 
Weary  of  this  world's  light,  have  to  themselves 
Been  death's  most  horrid  agents,  human  grace 
Affords  them  dust  and  shadow  — 

1st  Queen.  But  our  lords 

Lie  bUstering  'fore  the  visitating'^  sun, 
And  were  good  kings  when  living. 

Theseus.  It  is  true  : 

And  I  will  give  you  comfort. 
To  give  your  dead  lords  graves ;  the  which  to  do 
Must  make  some  work  with  Creon.  150 

1  Cf.  Coriolanus,  iv,  7 : 

"  I  think  he'll  be  to  Rome, 
As  is  the  osprey  to  the  fish,  who  takes  it 
By  sovereignty  of  nature." 

2  Those  who  take  their  own   lives  by  hanging,  stabbing,  poison,  and 
throwing  themselves  from  a  height. 

3  Surveying ;  cf.  Tempest,  i,  2,  308. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  373 

1st  Queen.  And    that   work   now   presents    itself  to    the 
doing ; 
Now  'twill  take  form ;  the  heats  are  gone  to-morrow. 
Then  bootless  toil  must  recompense  itself 
With  its  own  sweat ;  now  he's  secure, 
Not  dreams  we  stand  before  your  puissance, 
Rinsing  our  holy  begging  in  our  eyes, 
To  make  petition  clear. 

2d  Queen.  Now  you  may  take  him, 

Drunk  with  his  victory  — 

Sd  Queen.  And  his  army  full 

Of  bread  and  sloth. 

Theseus.  Artesius,  that  best  know'st 

How  to  draw  out,  fit  to  this  enterprise,  160 

The  prim'st  for  this  proceeding,  and  the  number 
To  carry  such  a  business,  forth  and  levy 
Our  worthiest  instruments  ;  whilst  we  despatch 
This  grand  act  of  our  life,  this  daring  deed 
Of  fate  in  wedlock  ! 

1st  Queen.  Dowagers,  take  hands  ! 

Let  us  be  widows  to  our  woes  !     Delay 
Commends  us  to  a  famishing  hope. 

All  the  Queens.  Farewell  ! 

2d  Queen.  We  come  unseasonably ;  but  when  could  grief 
Cull  forth,  as  unpang'd  judgment  can,  fitt'st  time 
For  best  solicitation  ? 

Theseus.  Why,  good  ladies,  170 

This  is  a  service,  whereto  I  am  going. 
Greater  than  any  war ;  it  more  imports  me 
Than  all  the  actions  that  I  have  foregone, 
Or  futurely  can  cope. 

1st  Queen.  The  more  proclaiming 


374  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  I. 

Our  suit  shall  be  neglected.     When  her  arms, 

Able  to  lock  Jove  from  a  synod,^  shall 

By  warranting  moonlight  corslet  thee,  O,  when 

Her  twinning  cherries  shall  their  sweetness  fall 

Upon  thy  tasteful  lips,  what  wilt  thou  think 

Of  rotten  kings  or  blubber'd  ^  queens  ?  what  care  i8o 

For  what  thou  feel'st  not,  what  thou  feel'st  being  able 

To  make  Mars  spurn  his  drum  ?     O,  if  thou  couch 

But  one  night  with  her,  every  hour  in't  will 

Take  hostage  of  thee  for  a  hundred,  and 

Thou  shalt  remember  nothing  more  than  what 

That  banquet  bids  ^  thee  to  ! 

Hippolyta  {kneeling  to  Theseus)  .  Though  much  unlike 
You  should  be  so  transported,  as  much  sorry 
I  should  be  such  a  suitor,  yet  I  think. 
Did  I  not,  by  the  abstaining  of  my  joy. 
Which  breeds  a  deeper  longing,  cure  their  surfeit*  190 

That  craves  a  present  medicine,  I  should  pluck 
All  ladies'  scandal  on  me.     Therefore,  sir. 
As  I  shall  here  make  trial  of  my  prayers. 
Either  presuming  them  to  have  some  force. 
Or  sentencing  for  aye  their  vigour  dumb. 
Prorogue  this  business  we  are  going  about,  and  hang 
Your  shield  afore  your  heart,  about  that  neck 
Which  is  my  fee,^  and  which  I  freely  lend 
To  do  these  poor  queens  service. 

All  Queens,  O,  help  now  !  \To  Emilia. 


1  Assembly  of  the  gods ;  so  Cymbeline,  v,  4,  89. 

2  Disfigured  by  weeping.  "  The  reader  ought  to  recollect  that  formerly 
this  word  did  not  convey  the  somewhat  ludicrous  idea  which  it  does  at 
present."  —  Dyce. 

8  Invites.  ^  Excess  of  grief.  5  Property. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  375 

Our  cause  cries  for  your  knee. 

Emilia  {^kneeling  to  Theseus)  .  If  you  grant  not  200 

My  sister  her  petition,  in  that  force, 
With  that  celerity  and  nature,  which 
She  makes  it  in,  from  henceforth  I'll  not  dare 
To  ask  you  anything,  nor  be  so  hardy 
Ever  to  take  a  husband. 

Theseus.  Pray  stand  up  ! 

[HipPOLYTA  and  Emilia  rise. 
I  am  entreating  of  myself  to  do 
That  which  you  kneel  to  have  me.  —  Pirithous, 
Lead  on  the  bride.     Get  you  ^  and  pray  the  gods 
For  success  and  return ;  omit  not  anything 
In  the  pretended  ^  celebration.  —  Queens,  210 

Follow  your  soldier.  —  As  before,  hence  you,   \_To  Artesius. 
And  at  the  banks  of  Aulis  meet  us  with 
The  forces  you  can  raise,  where  we  shall  find 
The  moiety  of  a  number,  for  a  business 
More  bigger  look'd. —  {To  Hippolyta)  Since  that  our  theme 

is  haste, 
I  stamp  this  kiss  upon  thy  currant  lip ; 
Sweet,  keep  it  as  my  token  !  —  {To  Artesius)  Set  you  for- 
ward; 
For  I  will  see  you  gone.  —  '  \_Exit  Artesius. 

Farewell,  my  beauteous  sister  !  —  Pirithous, 
Keep  the  feast  full ;    bate  not  an  hour  on't ! 

Pirithous.  Sir,  220 

I'll  follow  you  at  heels  ;   the  feast's  solemnity 
Shall  want  ^  till  you  return. 

Theseus.  Cousin,  I  charge  you, 

Budge  not  from  Athens ;  we  shall  be  returning 

1  Get  you  hence.  2  Intended.  8  Be  incomplete^ 


376  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  i. 

Ere  you  can  end  this  feast,  of  which,  I  pray  you. 
Make  no  abatement.  —  Once  more,  farewell  all ! 

[HiPPOLYTA,  Emilia,  Pirithous,  Hymen,  Boy,  Nymphs, 
and  Attendants  enter  the  temple. 

1st  Queen.  Thus  dost  thou  still  make  good 
The  tongue  o'  the  world  — 

2d  Queen.  And  earn'st  a  deity 

Equal  with  Mars  — 

jd  Queen.  If  not  above  him  ;  for. 

Thou,  being  but  mortal,  mak'st  affections  bend 
To  godlike  honours  ;  they  themselves,  some  say,  230 

Groan  under  such  a  mastery. 

Theseus.  As  we  are  men. 

Thus  should  we  do  ;  being  sensually  subdued,^ 
We  lose  our  human  title.  Good  cheer,  ladies  ! 
Now  turn  we  towards  your  comforts.      [^Flourish.     Exeunt'/' 

1  Overcome  by  our  passions. 

2  This  scene  "  has  sometimes  Shakespeare's  identical  images  and  words ; 
it  has  his  quaint  force  and  sententious  brevity,  crowding  thoughts  and 
fancies  into  the  narrowest  space,  and  submitting  to  obscurity  in  preference 
to  feeble  dilation ;  it  has  sentiments  enunciated  with  reference  to  subor- 
dinate relations,  which  other  writers  would  have  expressed  with  less  grasp  of 
thought ;  it  has  even  Shakespeare's  alliteration,  and  one  or  two  of  his  singu- 
larities in  conceit;  it  has  clearness  in  the  images  taken  separately,  and 
confusion  from  the  prodigality  with  which  one  is  poured  out  after  another, 
in  the  heat  and  hurry  of  imagination  ;  it  has  both  fulness  of  illustration,  and 
a  variety  which  is  drawn  from  the  most  distant  sources ;  and  it  has,  thrown 
over  all,  that  air  of  originality  and  that  character  of  poetry,  the  principle  of 
which  is  often  hid  when  their  presence  and  effect  are  most  quickly  and 
instinctively  perceptible."  —  Spalding. 

"The  first  thing  that  seems  to  indicate  the  presence  of  the  mind  of 
Shakespeare  is  the  clearness  with  which,  in  the  first  scene,  we  are  put  in 
possession  of  the  exact  state  of  affairs  at  the  opening  of  the  play,  without 
any  circumlocution  or  long-winded  harangues,  but  naturally  and  dramati- 
cally. And,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  Shake- 
speare is,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  the  downright  honesty  of  his  genius,  that 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  377 

Scene  II. —  Thebes.     The  Court  of  the  Palace. 
Enter  Palamon  and  Arcite. 

Arcite.  Dear  Palamon,  dearer  in  love  than  blood, 
And  our  prime  cousin,  yet  unharden'd  in 
The  crimes  of  nature,  let  us  leave  the  city, 
Thebes,  and  the  temptings  in't,  before  we  further 
Sully  our  gloss  of  youth  : 
And  here  to  keep  in  abstinence  we  shame 
As  in  incontinence  ;  for  not  to  swim 
I'  the  aid  o'  the  current  were  almost  to  sink. 
At  least  to  frustrate  striving ;   and  to  follow 
The  common  stream,  'twould  bring  us  to  an  eddy  10 

Where  we  should  turn  or  drown  ;  if  labour  through,^ 
Our  gain  but  life  and  weakness. 

Palamon.  Your  advice 

Is  cried  up  with  example.     What  strange  ruins,^ 
Since  first  we  went  to  school,  may  we  perceive 
Walking  in  Thebes  !  scars  and  bare  weeds. 
The  gain  o'  the  martialist,  who  did  propound 
To  his  bold  ends  honour  and  golden  ingots, 

disdains  anything  like  trick  or  mystery.  This  is  almost  peculiar  to  Shake- 
speare. Where,  in  his  works,  as  much  is  revealed  at  the  very  opening  as  is 
necessary  to  the  understanding  of  the  plot,  we  find,  in  the  works  of  other 
dramatists,  as  much  kept  back  as  possible ;  and  we  are  continually  greeted 
with  some  surprise  or  startled  with  some  unexpected  turn  in  the  conduct  of 
the  piece."  —  Hickson. 

1  If  we  should  labor  through  it. 

2  "  Not  material  ruins  of  houses,  but  wrecks  of  men,  that  is,  men  who 
are  but  wrecks  of  their  former  selves.  Palamon  is  following  up  the  idea 
started  by  Arcite,  that  the  men  in  Thebes  were  mostly  coming  to  ruin." 
—  Skeat. 


378  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  I. 

Which  though  he  won,  he  had  not ;  and  now  flurted  ^ ' 

By  Peace,  for  whom  he  fought !     Who  then  shall  offer 

To  Mars's  so-scorn'd  altar?     I  do  bleed  20 

When  such  I  meet,  and  wish  great  Juno  would 

Resume  her  ancient  fit  of  jealousy,^ 

To  get  the  soldier  work,  that  Peace  might  purge 

For  her  repletion,  and  retain  anew 

Her  charitable  heart,  now  hard,  and  harsher 

Than  strife  or  war  could  be. 

Arcite.  Are  you  not  out? 

Meet  you  no  ruin  but  the  soldier  in 
The  cranks  and  turns  of  Thebes  ?     You  did  begin 
As  if  you  met  decays  of  many  kinds  ; 

Perceive  you  none  that  do  arouse  your  pity  30 

But  the  unconsider'd  soldier  ? 

Palamon.  Yes  ;  I  pity 

Decays  where'er  I  find  them ;  but  such  most 
That,  sweating  in  an  honourable  toil, 
Are  paid  with  ice  to  cool  'em. 

Arcite.  'Tis  not  this 

I  did  begin  to  speak  of;  this  is  virtue 
Of  no  respect  in  Thebes.     I  spake  of  Thebes, 
How  dangerous,  if  we  will  keep  our  honours, 
It  is  for  our  residing ;  where  every  evil 
Hath  a  good  colour ;  where  every  seeming  good's 
A  certain  evil ;  where  not  to  be  even  jump  ^  40 

As  they  are  here,  were  to  be  strangers,  and 
Such  things  to  be  mere  monsters. 

Palamon.  It  is  in  our  power  — 

Unless  we  fear  that  apes  can  tutor  's  —  to 

1  Scorned. 

2  Refers  to  the  cause  of  the  Trojan  war.  8  Precisely. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN  379 

Be  masters  of  our  manners.     What  need  I 

Affect  another's  gait,  which  is  not  catching 

Where  there  is  faith  ^  ?  or  to  be  fond  upon 

Another's  way  of  speech,  when  by  mine  own 

I  may  be  reasonably  conceiv'd/  sav'd  too. 

Speaking  it  truly  ?     Why  am  I  bound 

By  any  generous  bond  to  follow  him  50 

Follows  his  tailor,  haply  so  long  until 

The  follow'd  make  pursuit?     Or  let  me  know 

Why  mine  own  barber  is  unbless'd,  with  him 

My  poor  chin  too,  for  'tis  not  scissar'd  just 

To  such  a  favourite's  glass?     What  canon  is  there 

That  does  command  my  rapier  from  my  hip, 

To  dangle't  in  my  hand,  or  to  go  tip-toe 

Before  the  street  be  foul !     Either  I  am 

The  fore-horse  in  the  team,  or  I  am  none 

That  draw  i'  the  sequent  trace.     These  poor  slight  sores    60 

Need  not  a  plantain ;  that  which  rips  my  bosom, 

Almost  to  the  heart,  's  — 

Arcite.  Our  uncle  Creon. 

Palamon.  He, 

A  most  unbounded  tyrant,  whose  successes 
Makes  heaven  unfear'd.  and  villainy  assur'd 
Beyond  its  power  there's  nothing ;  almost  puts 
Faith  in  a  fever,  and  deifies  alone 
Voluble  chance  ;  who  only  attributes 
The  faculties  of  other  instruments 
To  his  own  nerves  and  act ;  commands  men's  service. 
And  what  they  win  in't,  boot  and  glory ;  one  70 

That  fears  not  to  do  harm,  good  dares  not.     Let 
The  blood  of  mine  that's  sib  ^  to  him  be  suck'd 

1  Self-reliance.  2  Understood.  3  Related  to. 


380  THE  TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  I 

From  me  with  leeches  !    let  them  break  and  fall 
Off  me  with  that  corruption  ! 

Arcife.  Clear-spirited  cousin, 

Let's  leave  his  court,  that  we  may  nothing  share 
Of  his  loud  infamy  ;  for  our  milk 
Will  relish  of  the  pasture,  and  we  must 
Be  vile  or  disobedient,  not  his  kinsmen 
In  blood,  unless  in  quality.  '      ^ 

Falamon.  Nothing  truer  ! 

I  think  the  echoes  of  his  shames  have  deaf'd  80 

The  ears  of  heavenly  justice  ;  widows'  cries 
Descend  again  into  their  throats,  and  have  not 
Due  audience  of  the  gods.  —  Valerius  ! 

Enter  Valerius. 

Valerius.  The  king  calls  for  you  ;  yet  be  leaden-footed 
Till  his  great  rage  be  off  him.     Phoebus,  when 
He  broke  his  whipstock  and  exclaim'd  against 
The  horses  of  the  sun,'  but  whisper'd,  to  ^ 
The  loudness  of  his  fury. 

Falamon.  Small  winds  shake  him  ; 

But  what's  the  matter? 

Valerius.  Theseus  —  who,  where  he  threats,  appals  —  hath 
sent  90 

Deadly  defiance  to  him,  and  pronounces 
Ruin  to  Thebes ;  who  is  at  hand  to  seal 
The  promise  of  his  wrath. 

Arcite.  Let  him  approach  ! 

But  that  we  fear  the  gods  in  him,  he  brings  not 
A  jot  of  terror  to  us ;  yet  what  man 

1  Perhaps  alludes  to  Phoebus's  wrath  after  the  death  of  Phaethon. 

2  Compared  to. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  381 

Thirds  his  own  worth  —  the  case  is  each  of  ours  — 
When  that  his  action's  dregg'd  with  mind  assur'd 
'Tis  bad  he  goes  about  ?^ 

Palamon.  Leave  that  unreason'd  j 

Our  services  stand  now  for  Thebes,  not  Creon. 
Yet  to  be  neutral  to  him  were  dishonour,  100 

RebelHous  to  oppose  ;  therefore  we  must 
With  him  stand  to  the  mercy  of  our  fate. 
Who  hath  bounded  our  last  minute. 

Arcite.  So  we  must.  — 

Is't  said  this  war's  afoot  ?  or  it  shall  be, 
On  fail  of  some  condition  ? 

Valerius.  Tis  in  motion  ;   . 

The  intelligence  ^  of  state  came  in  the  instant 
With  the  defier. 

Palamon,  Let's  to  the  king,  who,  were  he 

A  quarter  carrier  of  that  honour  which 
His  enemy  comes  in,  the  blood  we  venture 
Should  be  as  for  our  health  ;  which  were  not  spent,  no 

Rather  laid  out  for  purchase  :  but,  alas. 
Our  hands  advanc'd  before  our  hearts,  what  will 
The  fall  o'  the  stroke  do  damage? 

Arcite.  Let  the  event, 

That  never- erring  arbitrator,  tell  us 
When  we  know  all  ourselves ;  and  let  us  follow 
The  becking  of  our  chance.  \^Exeunt? 

1  "  What  man  can  exert  a  third  part  of  his  powers  when  his  mind  is 
clogged  with  a  consciousness  that  he  fights  in  a  bad  cause  ?  "  —  Mason. 

'^  Messenger;  cf.  King  John,  iv,  2,  116. 

^  Of  this  scene  Spalding  says :  "  Its  broken  versification  points  out 
Shakespeare ;  the  quaintness  of  some  conceits  is  his ;  and  several  of  the 
phrases  and  images  have  much  of  his  pointedness,  brevity,  or  obscurity. 
The  scene,  though  not  lofty  in  tone,  does  not  want  interest,  and  contains 


382  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  L 

Scene  III.  —  Before  the  Gates  of  Athens. 
Enter  Piritkous,  Hippolyta,  and  Emilia. 

Pirithous.  No  further  ! 

Hippolyta.  Sir,  farewell !    Repeat  my  wishes 

To  our  great  lord,  of  whose  success  I  dare  not 
Make  any  timorous  question ;  yet  I  wish  him 
Excess  and  overflow  of  power,  an't  might  be. 
To  dare  ill-dealing  fortune.     Speed  to  him  ; 
Store  ^  never  hurts  good  governors. 

Pirithous.  Though  I  know 

His  ocean  needs  not  my  poor  drops,  yet  they 
Must  yield  their  tribute  there.  —  My  precious  maid. 
Those  best  affections  that  the  heavens  infuse 
In  their  best-temper'd  pieces  keep  enthron'd  10 

In  your  dear  heart ! 

Emilia.  Thanks,  sir.     Remember  me 

To  our  all-royal  brother,  for  whose  speed 
The  great  Bellona  I'll  sohcit ;  and 
Since,  in  our  terrene  state,  petitions  are  not 
Without  gifts  understood,  I'll  offer  to  her 
What  I  shall  be  advis'd  she  likes.     Our  hearts 
Are  in  his  army,  in  his  tent. 

Hippolyta,  In's  bosom  ! 

some  extremely  original  illustrations."  Hickson  thinks  "  that  either  Shake- 
speare and  Fletcher  wrote  the  scene  in  conjunction,  or  that  it  was  originally 
written  by  Fletcher,  and  afterwards  revised  and  partly  re-written  by  Shake- 
speare." Littledale  asks :  "  Does  it  not  therefore  appear  more  likely  that 
the  view  put  forward  by  Spalding,  and  upheld  by  Dyce,  Skeat,  and  Swin- 
burne —  that  Shakespeare  was  the  first  sketcher  of  the  piece,  Fletcher  the 
•  padder ' ;  that  the  play  is  '  gilt  o'er-dusted,'  rather  than  '  dust  that  is  a  little 
gilt '  gives  after  all  the  true  explanation  of  the  mystery  ?  " 
1  Abundance  of  men  or  money. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  383 

We  have  been  soldiers,  and  we  cannot  weep 

When  our  friends  don  their  helms  or  put  to  sea, 

Or  tell  of  babes  broach 'd  on  the  lance,  or  women  20 

That  have  sod^  their  infants  in  —  and  after  eat  them  — 

The  brine  they  wept  at  killing  'em  ;  then  if 

You  stay  to  see  of  us  such  spinsters,  we 

Should  hold  you  here  for  ever. 

Piriihous.  Peace  be  to  you. 

As  I  pursue  this  war  !  which  shall  be  then 
Beyond  further  requiring.  \_Exit. 

Emilia.  How  his  longing 

Follows  his  friend  !     Since  his  depart  his  sports. 
Though  craving  seriousness  and  skill,  pass'd  slightly 
His  careless  execution,  where  nor  gain 
Made  him  regard,  or  loss  consider ;  but  30 

Playing  one  business  in  his  hand,  another 
Directing  in  his  head,  his  mind  nurse  equal 
To  these  so  differing  twins.     Have  you  observ'd  him 
Since  our  great  lord  departed  ? 

Hippolyta.  With  much  labour, 

And  I  did  love  him  for't.     They  two  have  cabin'd 
In  many  as  dangerous  as  poor  a  corner. 
Peril  and  want  contending  ;  they  have  skiff 'd 
Torrents,  whose  roaring  tyranny  and  power 
I'  the  least  of  these  was  dreadful ;  and  they  have 
Fought  out  together,  where  death's  self  was  lodg'd,  40 

Yet  fate  hath  brought  them  off.     Their  knot  of  love 
Tied,  weav'd,  entangled,  with  so  true,  so  long, 
Ana  with  a  finger  of  so  deep  a  cunning, 
May  be  outworn,  never  undone.     I  think 
Theseus  cannot  be  umpire  to  himself, 

1  Seethed,  boiled. 


384  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  L 

Cleaving  his  conscience  into  twain,  and  doing 
Each  side  Uke  justice,  which  he  loves  best. 

Emilia.  Doubtless 

There  is  a  best,  and  reason  has  no  manners 
To  say  it  is  not  you.     I  was  acquainted 
Once  with  a  time,  when  I  enjoy'd  a  playfellow ;  50 

You  were  at  wars  when  she  the  grave  enrich'd. 
Who  made  too  proud  the  bed,  took  leave  o'  the  moon  — 
Which  then  look'd  pale  at  parting  —  when  our  count 
Was  each  eleven. 

Hippolyta.  'Twas  Flavina. 

Emilia.  Yes. 

You  talk  of  Pirithous'  and  Theseus'  love  : 
Theirs  has  more  ground,  is  more  maturely  season'd, 
More  buckled  with  strong  judgment,  and  their  needs 
The  one  of  th'  other  may  be  said  to  water 
Their  intertangled  roots  of  love  ;  but  I 
And  she  I  sigh  and  spoke  of  were  things  innocent,  60 

Lov'd  for  we  did,  and,  like  the  elements 
That  know  not  what  nor  why,  yet  do  effect 
Rare  issues  by  their  operance,^  our  souls 
Did  so  to  one  another.     What  she  lik'd. 
Was  then  of  me  approv'd  ;  what  not,  condemn'd. 
No  more  arraignment.     The  flower  that  I  would  pluck 
And  put  between  my  breasts  —  then  but  beginning 
To  swell  about  the  blossom  —  she  would  long 
Till  she  had  such  another,  and  commit  it 
To  the  like  innocent  cradle,  where  phoenix-like  70 

They  died  in  perfume.  On  my  head  no  toy  ^ 
But  was  her  pattern  ;  her  affections  —  pretty. 
Though  happily  her  careless  wear  —  I  foUow'd 

1  Operation.  2  Head-dress. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  385 

For  my  most  serious  decking.     Had  mine  ear 

Stol'n  some  new  air,  or  at  adventure  humm'd  one 

From  musical  coinage,  why,  it  was  a  note 

Whereon  her  spirits  would  sojourn  —  rather  dwell  on  — 

And  sing  it  in  her  slumbers.     This  rehearsal  — 

Which,  every  innocent  wots  well,  comes  in 

Like  old  importment's  bastard  —  has  this  end,  80 

That  the  true  love  'tween  maid  and  maid  may  be 

More  than  in  sex  dividual.^ 

Hippolyta.  You're  out  of  breath  ; 

And  this  high-speeded  pace  is  but  to  say^ 
That  you  shall  never,  like  the  maid  Flavina, 
Love  any  that's  call'd  man. 

Emilia,  I  am  sure  I  shall  not. 

Hippolyta.  Now,  alack,  weak  sister, 
I  must  no  more  believe  thee  in  this  point  — 
Though  in't  I  know  thou  dost  believe  thyself — 
Than  I  will  trust  a  sickly  appetite, 

That  loathes  even  as  it  longs.     But  sure,  my  sister,  90 

If  I  were  ripe  for  your  persuasion,  you 
Have  said  enough  to  shake  me  from  the  arm 
Of  the  all-noble  Theseus  ;  for  whose  fortunes 
I  will  now  in  and  kneel,  with  great  assurance, 
That  we,  more  than  his  Pirithous,  possess 
The  high  throne  in  his  heart. 

Emilia.  I  am  not 

Against  your  faith ;  yet  I  continue  mine.^  \Exeunt. 

1  "  The  end  of  this  long  relation,  as  every  innocent  is  aware,  comes  in 
like  the  '  illegitimate  conclusion '  of  a  long  story  told  very  consequentially." 
.—  Littledale. 

2  This  scene  "  has  Shakespeare's  stamp  deeply  cut  upon  it,"  and  is 
"  probably  all  his."  —  Spalding.  "  The  friendship  of  Theseus  and  Pirithous 
becomes  a  natural  introduction  to  the  object  of  friendship  in  general,  and 


386  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT 


Scene  IV.     A  Field  before  Thebes. 

Cornets.  A  battle  struck  within;  then  a  retreat;  then  a 
flourish.  Then  enter  Theseus,  victor;  the  three  Queens 
meet  him  and  fall  on  their  faces  before  him. 

1st  Queen.  To  thee  no  star  be  dark  ! 

2d  Queen.  Both  heaven  and  earth 

Friend  thee  for  ever  ! 

jd  Queen.  All  the  good  that  may 

Be  wish'd  upon  thy  head,  I  cry  amen  to't ! 

Theseus.  The   impartial    gods,   who   from    the    mounted 
heavens 
View  us  their  mortal  herd,  behold  who  err, 
And  in  their  time  chastise.     Go  and  find  out 
The  bones  of  your  dead  lords,  and  honour  them 
With  treble  ceremony.     Rather  than  a  gap 
Should  be  in  their  dear  rites,  we  would  supply't. 
But  those  we  will  depute  which  shall  invest  lo 

You  in  your  dignities,  and  even  each  thing 
Our  haste  does  leave  imperfect.  So  adieu. 
And  heaven's  good  eyes  look  on  you  ! — What  are  those? 

\_Exeunt  Queens. 

female  friendship  in  particular ;  and,  in  this  light,  the  character  of  Emilia  is 
shown  so  simple,  so  pure,  yet  so  fervent,  that  we  justify  and  account  for  her 
irresolution  and  inability  to  decide  between  the  rivals,  both  of  whom  she 
admires  without  actually  loving  either.  It  is  a  scene,  in  fact,  necessary  to 
that  perfection  of  character  and  consistency  of  purpose  which  but  one 
writer  of  the  age  attained.  Struck  out,  the  play  would  still  be  intelligible, 
as  no  part  of  the  action  would  thereby  be  lost ;  but  Emilia  would  straight- 
way sink  into  one  of  those  conventional  characters  that  strange  circum- 
stances throw  into  the  power  of  the  dramatist,  and,  judged  by  any  other 
than  his  own  peculiar  standard,  would  certainly  have  little  claim  upon  our 
respect."  —  Hickson, 


SCENE  IV.J  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  38^ 

Herald.  Men  of  great  quality,  as  may  be  judg'd 
By  their  appointment ;  some  of  Thebes  have  told's 
They  are  sisters'  children,  nephews  to  the  king. 

Theseus.  By  the  helm  of  Mars,  I  saw  them  in  the  war. 
Like  to  a  pair  of  Hons  smear'd  with  prey. 
Make  lanes  in  troops  aghast ;  I  fix'd  my  note 
Constantly  on  them,  for  they  were  a  mark  20 

Worth  a  god's  view.     What  was't  that  prisoner  told  me. 
When  I  inquir'd  their  names? 

Herald.  We  learn,  they're  call'd 

Arcite  and  Palamon. 

Theseus.  'Tis  right ;  those,  those. 

They  are  not  dead  ? 

Herald.  Nor  in  a  state  of  life  :  had  they  been  taken 
When  their  last  hurts  were  given,  'twas  possible 
They  might  have  been  recover'd ;  yet  they  breathe, 
And  have  the  name  of  men. 

Theseus.  Then  like  men  use  'em  ; 

The  very  lees  of  such,  millions  of  rates 
Exceed  the  wine  of  others.     All  our  surgeons  30 

Convent  in  their  behoof;  our  richest  balms. 
Rather  than  niggard,  waste  :  their  lives  concern  us 
Much  more  than  Thebes  is  worth.     Rather  than  have  'em 
Freed  of  this  plight,  and  in  their  morning  state, 
ScJund  and  at  liberty,  I  would  'em  dead ; 
But,  forty  thousand  fold,  we  had  rather  have  'em 
Prisoners  to  us  than  death.     Bear  'em  speedily 
From  our  kind  air  —  to  them  unkind  —  and  minister 
What  man  to  man  may  do  ;  for  our  sake,  more  : 
Since  I  have  known  fight's  fury,  friends'  behests,  40 

Love's  provocations,  zeal,  a  mistress'  task, 
Desire  of  liberty,  a  fever,  madness, 


388  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  I. 

Hath  set  a  mark  —  which  nature  could  not  reach  to 

Without  some  imposition,  —  sickness  in  will, 

Or  wrestling  strength  in  reason.     For  our  love 

And  great  Apollo's  mercy,  all  our  best 

Their  best  skill  tender  !  ^  —  Lead  into  the  city ; 

Where  having  bound  things  scatter'd,  we  will  post 

To  Athens  'fore  our  army.  [^Flourish,     Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Field.  ■ 

Enter  the  Queens  with  the  hearses  of  their  husbands  in  a 
funeral  solemnity^  etc. 

Song. 

Urns  and  odours  bring  away ! 

Vapours,  sighs,  darken  the  day ! 

1  This  corrupt  passage  has  puzzled  all  the  commentators.  Skeat  says : 
"  It  is  clear  that  friends  should  be  a  genitive  case,  coupled  as  it  is  with 
Love's  provocations  ;  and  the  s\xg%G.^^!\ow  fight' s  fury  is  a  great  improvement 
upon  \\\^  fright' s  fury  of  the  old  editions.  The  introduction  of  in  after  zeal, 
as  proposed  by  Mr.  Dyce,  is  also  a  happy  thought.  But  there  we  may  as 
well  stop.  I  understand  the  word  that  before  Hath,  nothing  being  com- 
moner in  our  dramatists  than  the  omission  of  the  relative;  and  I  retain 
Hath,  without  altering  it,  as  some  have  done,  to  Have.  I  interpret  it  thus : 
'  For  I  have  known  the  fury  of  fight,  the  requisitions  of  friends,  the  provoca- 
tions of  love,  the  zeal  employed  in  executing  a  mistress's  task,  or  the  desire 
of  liberty  —  to  be  (or,  to  amount  to)  a  fever  or  a  madness,  which  has  pro- 
posed an  aim  (for  endeavours)  which  the  man's  natural  strength  could  not 
attain  to,  without  at  least  some  forcing,  or  some  fainting  of  the  will,  or  some 
severe  struggle  in  the  mind.'  This  is  at  least  as  good  as  any  previous  ex- 
planations, and  further  discussion  of  so  difficult  a  passage  would  be  useless. 
Imposition  means  demand  or  requirement,  in  an  excessive  degree."  Little- 
dale  adds :  "  Theseus  directs  that  the  prisoners  shall  be  removed  from  all 
sights  that  might  be  suggestive  of  their  captivity  and  so  hinder  their  re- 
covery, since  he  knows  that,  among  other  causes,  desire  of  liberty  hath 
sometimes  produced  a  degree  of  mental  apathy  or  delirium  {set  a  mark  of 
sickness  of  will  or  wrestling  strength  in  reason^  which  could  only  be  com- 
bated by  practising  some  deception  {nature  could  not  reach  to,  etc.)." 


SCENE  v.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  389 

Our  doie^  more  deadly  looks  than  dying; 
Balms,  and  gums,  and  heavy  cheers^ 
Sacred  vials  fiWd  with  tears, 

And  clamours  through  the  wild  air  flying  I 
Come,  all  sad  and  solemn  shows, 
That  are  quick-eyed  pleasure's  foes  / 
We  convent^  nought  else  but  woes. 

We  convent,  etc.  10 

3d  Queen.  This  funeral  path  brings  to  your  household's 
grave. 
Joy  seize  on  you  again  !     Peace  sleep  with  him  ! 
2d  Queen.  And  this  to  yours  ! 

1st  Queen.  Yours  this  way  !     Heavens  lend 

A  thousand  differing  ways  to  one  sure  end  ! 

Sd  Queen.  This  world's  a  city  full  of  straying  streets, 
And  death's  the  market-place,  where  each  one  meets.'' 

\_Exeunt  severally.^ 

1  Sorrow.  2  Sad  mien.  3  Bring  together. 

4  An  old  epitaph  in  the  churchyard  of  Abernethy,  Scotland,  runs  thus  :  — 

"  The  world's  a  city 
Full  of  streets, 
And  death's  a  market 
That  every  one  meets; 
But  if  life  were  a  thing 
That  money  could  buy, 
The  poor  could  not  live 
And  the  rich  would  not  die." 

6  Littledale  doubts  that  Shakespeare  wrote  this  scene. 


39P  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  IL 


ACT   II. 

Scene  I.^  —  Athens.     A  Garden,  with  a  Castle  in  the  Back- 
ground. 

Enter  Gaoler  and  Wooer. 

Gaoler.  I  may  depart  with  little,  while  I  live ;  something 
I  may  cast  to  you,  ijot  mui:h.  Alas,  the  prison  I  keep, 
though  it  be  for  great  ones,  yet  they  seldom  come ;  be- 
fore one  salmon,  you  shall  take  a  number  of  minnows.  I  am 
given  out  to  be  better  lined  than  it  can  appear  to  me  report 
is  a  true  speaker ;  I  would  I  were  really  that  I  am  delivered 
to  be  1  Marry,  what  I  have  —  be  it  what  it  will  —  I  will 
assure  upon  my  daughter  at  the  day  of  my  death. 

Wooer.  Sir,  I  demand  no  more  than  your  own  offer ;  and 
I  will  estate  your  daughter  in  what  I  have  promised.  lo 

Gaoler.  Well,  we  will  talk  more  of  this  when  the  solem- 
nity is  past.  But  have  you  a  full  promise  of  her?  When 
that  shall  be  seen,  I  tender  my  consent. 

Wooer.  I  have,  sir.     Here  she  comes. 

Enter  Gaoler's  Daughter,  tvith  rushes. 

Gaoler.  Your  friend  and  I  have  chanced  to  name  you 
here,  upon  the  old  business  :  but  no  more  of  that  now.  So 
soon  as  the  court-hurry  is  over,  we  will  have  an  end  of  it. 
r  the  mean  time,  look  tenderly  to  the  two  prisoners.  I  can 
tell  you  they  are  princes.  19 

1  Hickson,  Coleridge  and  Littledale  attribute  this  scene  to  Shakespeare ; 
Weber,  Spalding,  and  Dyce  to  Fletcher. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  39 1 

Daughter.  These  strewings  are  for  their  chamber.  'Tis 
pity  they  are  in  prison,  and  'twere  pity  they  should  be 
out.  I  do  think  they  have  patience  to  make  any  adversity 
ashamed  ;  the  prison  itself  is  proud  of  'em,  and  they  have  all 
the  world  in  their  chamber. 

Gaoler.  They  are  famed  to  be  a  pair  of  absolute  men. 

Daughter.  By  my  troth,  I  think  fame  but  stammers  'em ; 
they  stand  a  grise  ^  above  the  reach  of  report. 

Gaoler.  I  heard  them  reported  in  the  battle  to  be  the 
only  doers. 

Daughter.  Nay,  most  likely ;  for  they  are  noble  sufferers. 
I  marvel  how  they  would  have  looked,  had  they  been  vic- 
tors, that  with  such  a  constant  nobility  enforce  a  freedom 
out  of  bondage,  making  misery  their  mirth,  and  affliction  a 
toy  to  jest  at.  34 

Gaoler.  Do  they  so  ? 

Daughter.  It  seems  to  me,  they  have  no  more  sense  of 
their  captivity,  than  I  of  ruling  Athens ;  they  eat  well,  look 
merrily,  discourse  of  many  things,  but  nothing  of  their  own 
restraint  and  disasters.  Yet  sometime  a  divided  sigh,  mar- 
tyred as  'twere  i'  the  deliverance,  will  break  from  one  of 
them ;  when  the  other  presently  gives  it  so  sweet  a  rebuke, 
that  I  could  wish  myself  a  sigh  to  be  so  chid,  or  at  least  a 
sigher  to  be  comforted.  43 

Wooer.  I  never  saw  'em. 

Gaoler.  The  duke  himself  came  privately  in  the  night, 
and  so  did  they ;  what  the  reason  of  it  is,  I  know  not.  — 
(Palamon  dZ«^  Arcite  appear  at  a  7vtndow,  above.)  Look, 
yonder  they  are  !  that's  Arcite  looks  out. 

Daughter.  No,  sir,  no  ;  that's  Palamon.  Arcite  is  the 
lower  of  the  twain ;  you  may  perceive  a  part  of  him.  50 

1  Step. 


392  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

Gaoler.  Go  to,  leave  your  pointing  !  They  would  not 
make  us  their  object ;  out  of  their  sight ! 

Daughter.  It  is  a  holiday  to  look  on  them  !  Lord,  the 

difference  of  men  !  {Exeunt. 


Scene  II. ^  —  A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Palamon  and  Arcite. 

Palamon.  How  do  you,  noble  cousin  ? 

Arcite.  How  do  you,  sir? 

Palamon.  Why,  strong  enough  to  laugh  at  misery, 
And  bear  the  chance  of  war  yet.     We  are  prisoners 
I  fear  for  ever,  cousin. 

Arcite.  I  believe  it ; 

And  to  that  destiny  have  patiently 
Laid  up  my  hour  to  come. 

Palamon.  O  cousin  Arcite, 

Where  is  Thebes  now  ?  where  is  our  noble  country  ? 
Where  are  our  friends  and  kindreds?     Never  more 
Must  we  behold  those  comforts ;  never  see 
The  hardy  youths  strive  for  the  games  of  honour,  lo 

Hung  with  the  painted  favours  of  their  ladies. 
Like  tall  ships  under  sail ;  then  start  amongst  'em. 
And,  as  an  east  wind,  leave  'em  all  behind  us 
Like  lazy  clouds,  whilst  Palamon  and  Arcite, 
Even  in  the  wagging  of  a  wanton  leg, 
Outstripp'd  the  people's  praises,  won  the  garlands, 
Ere  they  have  time  to  wish  'em  ours.     O,  never 
Shall  we  two  exercise,  like  twins  of  honour, 

1  Weber,  Dyce,  and  Skeat  make  no  separation  between  this  scene  and  the 
preceding ;  but  the  Quarto  does. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  393 

Our  arms  again,  and  feel  our  fiery  horses 

Like  proud  seas  under  us  !     Our  good  swords  now  —  20 

Better  the  red-eyed  god  of  war  ne'er  wore  — 

Ravish'd^  our  sides,  Hke  age,  must  run  to  rust, 

And  deck  the  temples  of  those  gods  that  hate  us ; 

These  hands  shall  never  draw  'em  out  like  lightning. 

To  blast  whole  armies,  more  ! 

Arcite.  No,  Palamon, 

Those  hopes  are  prisoners  with  us  :  here  we  are. 
And  here  the  graces  of  our  youths  must  wither. 
Like  a  too-timely  spring ;  here  age  must  find  us. 
And,  which  is  heaviest,  Palamon,  unmarried ; 
The  sweet  embraces  of  a  loving  wife,  30 

Loaden  with  kisses,  arm'd  with  thousand  Cupids, 
Shall  never  clasp  our  necks  ;  no  issue  know  us. 
No  figures  of  ourselves  shall  we  e'er  see. 
To  glad  our  age,  and  hke  young  eagles  teach  'em 
Boldly  to  gaze  against  bright  arms,  and  say, 
"  Remember  what  your  fathers  were,  and  conquer  !  " 
The  fair-eyed  maids  shall  weep  our  banishments. 
And  in  their  songs  curse  ever-bhnded  Fortune, 
Till  she  for  shame  see  what  a  wrong  she  has  done 
To  youth  and  nature.     This  is  all  our  world  ;  40 

We  shall  know  nothing  here  but  one  another. 
Hear  nothing  but  the  clock  that  tells  our  woes ; 
The  vine  shall  grow,  but  we  shall  never  see  it ; 
Summer  shall  come,  and  with  her  all  delights. 
But  dead-cold  winter  must  inhabit  here  still. 

Palamon.  'Tis  too  true,  Arcite.     To  our  Theban  hounds, 
That  shook  the  aged  forest  with  their  echoes, 
No  more  now  must  we  halloo ;  no  more  shake 

1  Torn  from. 


394  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

Our  pointed  javelins,  whilst  the  angry  swine 

Flies  like  a  Parthian  quiver  from  our  rages,  50 

Stuck  with  our  well-steel'd  darts  !     All  valiant  uses  — 

The  food  and  nourishment  of  noble  minds  — 

In  us  two  here  shall  perish ;  we  shall  die  — 

Which  is  the  curse  of  honour  —  lazily, 

Children  of  grief  and  ignorance. 

Arcite.  Yet,  cousin, 

Even  from  the  bottom  of  these  miseries. 
From  all  that  fortune  can  inflict  upon  us, 
I  see  two  comforts  rising,  two  mere  blessings. 
If  the  gods  please  to  hold  here,  —  a  brave  patience, 
And  the  enjoying  of  our  griefs  together.  60 

Whilst  Palamon  is  with  me,  let  me  perish 
If  I  think  this  our  prison. 

Palamon.  Certainly, 

'Tis  a  main  goodness,  cousin,  that  our  fortunes 
Were  twin'd  together :   'tis  most  true,  two  souls 
Put  in  two  noble  bodies,  let  'em  suffer 
The  gall  of  hazard,  so  they  grow  together. 
Will  never  sink ;  they  must  not ;  say  they  could, 
A  wiUing  man  dies  sleeping,  and  all's  done. 

Arcite.  Shall  we  make  worthy  uses  of  this  place, 
That  all  men  hate  so  much  ? 

Palamon.  How,  gentle  cousin  ?  70 

Arcite.  Let's  think  this  prison  holy  sanctuary, 
To  keep  us  from  corruption  of  worse  men. 
We  are  young,  and  yet  desire  the  ways  of  honour. 
That  liberty  and  common  conversation, 
The  poison  of  pure  spirits,  might,  like  women, 
Woo  us  to  wander  from.     What  worthy  blessing 
Can  be,  but  our  imaginations 
May  make  it  ours  ?  and  here  being  thus  together, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  395 

We  are  an  endless  mine  to  one  another ; 

We  are  one  another's  wife,  ever  begetting  80 

New  births  of  love  ;  we  are  father,  friends,  acquaintance  ; 

We  are,  in  one  another,  families ; 

I  am  your  heir,  and  you  are  mine ;  this  place 

Is  our  inheritance  ;  no  hard  oppressor 

Dare  take  this  from  us ;  here,  with  a  little  patience. 

We  shall  live  long,  and  loving ;  no  surfeits  seek  us ; 

The  hand  of  war  hurts  none  here,  nor  the  seas 

Swallow  their  youth.     Were  we  at  liberty, 

A  wife  might  part  us  lawfully,  or  business ; 

Quarrels  consume  us  ;  envy  of  ill  men  90 

Grave  ^  our  acquaintance  ;  I  might  sicken,  cousin, 

Where  you  should  never  know  it,  and  so  perish 

Without  your  noble  hand  to  close  mine  eyes, 

Or  prayers  to  the  gods :  a  thousand  chances, 

Were  we  from  hence,  would  sever  us. 

Palamon.  You  have  made  me  — 

I  thank  you,  cousin  Arcite  —  almost  wanton 
With  my  captivity ;  what  a  misery 
It  is  to  live  abroad,  and  everywhere  ! 
'Tis  like  a  beast,  methinks  !     I  find  the  court  here, 
I  am  sure,  a  more  content ;  and  all  those  pleasures,  100 

That  woo  the  wills  of  men  to  vanity, 
I  see  through  now ;  and  am  sufficient 
To  tell  the  world,  'tis  but  a  gaudy  shadow, 
That  old  Time,  as  he  passes  by,  takes  with  him. 
What  had  we  been,  old  in  the  court  of  Creon, 
Where  sin  is  justice,  lust  and  ignorance 
The  virtues  of  the  great  ones  !     Cousin  Arcite, 
Had  not  the  loving  gods  found  this  place  for  us, 

iBury. 


396  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

We  had  died  as  they  do,  ill  old  men,  unwept, 

And  had  their  epitaphs,  the  peoples'  curses.  110 

Shall  I  say  more  ? 

Arcite.  I  would  hear  you  still. 

Palamon.  Ye  shall. 

Is  there  record  of  any  two  that  lov'd 
Better  than  we  do,  Arcite  ? 

Arcite.  Sure,  there  cannot. 

Palamon.  I  do  not  think  it  possible  our  friendship 
Should  ever  leave  us. 

Arcite.  Till  our  deaths  it  cannot ; 

And  after  death  our  spirits  shall  be  led 
To  those  that  love  eternally.     Speak  on,  sir. 

Enter  Emilia  and  Waiting-woman,  below, 

Emilia.  This  garden  has  a  world  of  pleasures  in't. 
What  flower  is  this  ? 

Waiting-woman.      'Tis  call'd  narcissus,  madam. 

Emilia.  That  was  a  fair  boy,  certain,  but  a  fool  120 

To  love  himself;  were  there  not  maids  enough? 

Arcite.  Pray,  forward. 

Palamon.  Yes. 

Emilia.  Or  were  they  all  hard-hearted  ? 

Waiting-woman.  They  could  not  be  to  one  so  fair. 

Emilia.  Thou  would'st  not? 

Waiting-woman.  I  think  I  should  not,  madam. 

Emilia.  That's  a  good  wench  ; 

But  take  heed  to  your  kindness  though  ! 

Waiting-woman.  -  Why,  madam? 

Emilia.  Men  are  mad  things. 

Arcite.  Will  ye  go  forward,  cousin  ? 

Emilia,  Canst  thou  not  work  such  flowers  in  silk,  wench  ? 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  397 

Waiting-woman.  Yes. 

Emilia.  I'll  have  a  gown  full  of  'em  ;  and  of  these  ; 
This  is  a  pretty  colour :  will't  not  do 
Rarely  upon  a  skirt,  wench  ? 

Waiting-woman.  Dainty,  madam.  130 

Arcite.  Cousin  !    Cousin  !    How  do  you,  sir  ?    Why,  Pala- 
mon  ! 

Palamon.  Never  till  now  I  was  in  prison,  Arcite. 

Arcite.  Why,  what's  the  matter,  man? 

Palamon.  Behold,  and  wonder  ! 

By  heaven,  she  is  a  goddess  ! 

Arcite.  Ha ! 

Palamon.  Do  reverence  ! 

She  is  a  goddess,  Arcite  ! 

Emilia.  Of  all  flowers 

Methinks  a  rose  is  best. 

Waiting-woman.  Why,  gentle  madam? 

Emilia.  It  is  the  very  emblem  of  a  maid ; 
For  when  the  west  wind  courts  her  gently, 
How  modestly  she  blows,  and  paints  the  sun 
With  her  chaste  blushes  !  when  the  north  comes  near  her. 
Rude  and  impatient,  then,  like  chastity,  141 

She  locks  her  beauties  in  her  bud  again,^ 
And  leaves  him  to  base  briers. 

Arcite.  She  is  wondrous  fair  ! 

Palamon.  She  is  all  the  beauty  extant ! 

Einilia.  The  sun  grows  high  j  let's  walk  in.     Keep  these 
flowers ; 
We'll  see  how  near  art  can  come  near  their  colours. 

\_Exit  with  Waiting-woman. 

Palamon.  What  think  you  of  this  beauty? 

1  Cf.  Keats's  "  As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again." 


398  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  II. 

Arcite.  'Tis  a  rare  one. 

Palamon.  Is't  but  a  rare  one  ? 

Arcite.  Yes,  a  matchless  beauty. 

Palamon.  Might  not  a  man  well  lose  himself,  and  love 
her? 

Arcite.  I  cannot  tell  what  you  have  done  ;  I  have,         150 
Beshrew  mine  eyes  for't !     Now  I  feel  my  shackles. 

Palamon.  You  love  her  then  ? 

Arcite.  Who  would  not  ? 

Palamon.  And  desire  her? 

Arcite.  Before  my  liberty. 

Palamon.  I  saw  her  first. 

Arcite.  That's  nothing. 

Palamon.  But  it  shall  be. 

Arcite.  I  saw  her  too. 

Palamon.  Yes  ;  but  you  must  not  love  her. 

Arcite.  I  will  not,  as  you  do,  to  worship  her. 
As  she  is  heavenly  and  a  blessed  goddess  : 
I  love  her  as  a  woman,  to  enjoy  her ; 
So  both  may  love. 

Palamon.  You  shall  not  love  at  all. 

Arcite.  Not  love  at  all?  who  shall  deny  me?  160 

Palamon.  I  that  first  saw  her ;  I  that  took  possession 
First  with  mine  eyes  of  all  those  beauties  in  her 
Reveal'd  to  mankind  !     If  thou  lovest  her, 
Or  entertain'st  a  hope  to  blast  my  wishes, 
Thou  art  a  traitor,  Arcite,  and  a  fellow 
False  as  thy  title  to  her ;   friendship,  blood, 
And  all  the  ties  between  us  I  disclaim. 
If  thou  once  think  upon  her  ! 

Arcite.  Yes,  I  love  her; 

And  if  the  lives  of  all  my  name  lay  on  it, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  399 

I  must  do  SO  ;  I  love  her  with  my  soul.  170 

If  that  will  lose  ye,  farewell,  Palamon  ! 

I  say  again,  I  love ;  and,  in  loving  her,  maintain 

I  am  as  worthy  and  as  free  a  lover. 

And  have  as  just  a  title  to  her  beauty. 

As  any  Palamon,  or  any  living 

That  is  a  man's  son. 

Palamon.  Have  I  call'd  thee  friend? 

Arcite.  Yes,  and  have  found  me  so.     Why  are  you  mov'd 
thus? 
Let  me  deal  coldly  with  you  :  am  not  I 
Part  of  your  blood,  part  of  your  soul  ?  you  have  told  me 
That  I  was  Palamon,  and  you  were  Arcite.  180 

Palamon.  Yes. 

Arcite.  Am  not  I  liable  to  those  affections. 

Those  joys,  griefs,  angers,  fears,  my  friend  shall  suffer? 

Palamon.  Ye  may  be. 

Arcite.  Why  then  would  you  deal  so  cunningly. 

So  strangely,  so  unlike  a  noble  kinsman, 
To  love  alone  ?     Speak  truly  ;  do  you  think  me 
Unworthy  of  her  sight  ? 

Palamon.  No  ;  but  unjust 

If  thou  pursue  that  sight. 

Arcite.  Because  another 

First  sees  the  enemy,  shall  I  stand  still. 
And  let  mine  honour  down,  and  never  charge  ? 

Palamon.  Yes,  if  he  be  but  one. 

Arcite.  But  say  that  one         19c 

Had  rather  combat  me  ? 

Palamon.  Let  that  one  say  so. 

And  use  thy  freedom  ;  else,  if  thou  pursuest  her, 
Be  as  that  cursed  man  that  hates  his  country, 


400  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

A  branded  villain  ! 

Arcite.  You  are  mad. 

Palamon.  I  must  be, 

Till  thou  art  worthy,  Arcite  ;  it  concerns  me  ; 
And,  in  this  madness,  if  I  hazard  thee 
And  take  thy  life,  I  deal  but  truly. 

Arcite.  Fie,  sir  ! 

You  play  the  child  extremely :  I  will  love  her, 
I  must,  I  ought  to  do  so,  and  I  dare ; 
And  all  this  justly. 

Palamon.  O,  that  now,  that  now,  200 

Thy  false  self  and  thy  friend  had  but  this  fortune. 
To  be  one  hour  at  liberty,  and  grasp 
Our  good  swords  in  our  hands  !  I'd  quickly  teach  thee 
What  'twere  to  filch  affection  from  another  ! 
Thou  art  baser  in  it  than  a  cutpurse  ! 
Put  but  thy  head  out  of  this  window  more. 
And,  as  I  have  a  soul,  I'll  nail  thy  life  to't ! 

Arcite.  Thou  dar'st  not,  fool ;  thou  canst  not ;  thou  art 
feeble. 
Put  my  head  out !  I'll  throw  my  body  out. 
And  leap  the  garden,  when  I  see  her  next,  210 

And  pitch  between  her  arms,  to  anger  thee. 

Palamon.  No  more  !  the  keeper's  coming ;  I  shall  live 
To  knock  thy  brains  out  with  my  shackles. 

Arcite,  Do ! 

Enter  Gaoler. 

Gaoler.  By  your  leave,  gentlemen. 

Palamon.  Now,  honest  keeper? 

Gaoler.  Lord  Arcite,  you  must  presently  to  the  duke  ; 
The  cause  I  know  not  yet. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  40I 

Af'cite.  I  am  ready,  keeper. 

Gaoler.  Prince  Palamon,  I  must  awhile  bereave  you 
Of  your  fair  cousin's  company.  [Exit  ivith  Arcite. 

Palamon.  And  me  too, 

Even  when  you  please,  of  life.  —  Why  is  he  sent  for? 
It  may  be,  he  shall  marry  her ;  he's  goodly,  220 

And  like  enough  the  duke  hath  taken  notice 
Both  of  his  blood  and    body.     But  his  falsehood  ! 
Why  should  a  friend  be  treacherous  ?     If  that 
Get  him  a  wife  so  noble  and  so  fair. 
Let  honest  men  ne'er  love  again  !     Once  more 
I  would  but  see  this  fair  one.  —  Blessed  garden. 
And  fruit  and  flowers  more  blessed,  that  still  blossom 
As  her  bright  eyes  shine  on  ye  !     Would  I  were, 
For  all  the  fortune  of  my  life  hereafter, 
Yon  little  tree,  yon  blooming  apricock  !  ^  230 

How  I  would  spread,  and  fling  my  wanton  arms 
In  at  her  window  !     I  would  bring  her  fruit 
Fit  for  the  gods  to  feed  on ;  youth  and  pleasure. 
Still  as  she  tasted,  should  be  doubled  on  her ; 
And  if  she  be  not  heavenly,  I  would  make  her 
So  near  the  gods  in  nature,  they  should  fear  her ; 
And  then  I  am  sure  she  would  love  me.  — 

Re-enter  Gaoler. 

How  now,  keeper  ! 
Where's  Arcite  ? 

Gaoler.  Banish'd.     Prince  Pirithous 

Obtain'd  his  liberty ;  but  never  more, 

Upon  his  oath  and  life,  must  he  set  foot  240 

Upon  this  kingdom. 

1  Apricot. 


402  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

Palamon.  He's  a  blessed  man  ! 

He  shall  see  Thebes  again,  and  call  to  arms 
The  bold  young  men  that,  when  he  bids  'em  charge, 
Fall  on  like  fire.     Arcite  shall  have  a  fortune, 
If  he  dare  make  himself  a  worthy  lover, 
Yet  in  the  field  to  strike  a  battle  for  her ; 
And  if  he  lose  her  then,  he's  a  cold  coward. 
How  bravely  may  he  bear  himself  to  win  her, 
If  he  be  noble  Arcite,  thousand  ways  ! 
Were  I  at  liberty,  I  would  do  things  250 

Of  such  a  virtuous  greatness  that  this  lady. 
This  blushing  virgin,  should  take  manhood  to  her, 
And  seek  to  ravish  me  ! 

Gaoler.  My  lord,  for  you 

I  have  this  charge  too  — 

Palamon.  To  discharge  my  life  ? 

Gaoler,  No;   but  from  this  place  to  remove  your  lord- 
ship; 
The  windows  are  too  open. 

Palamon.  Devils  take  'em. 

That  are  so  envious  to  me  !     Prithee,  kill  me  ! 

Gaoler.  And  hang  for't  afterward  ? 

Palamon.  By  this  good  light, 

Had  I  a  sword,  I'd  kill  thee  ! 

Gaoler.  Why,  my  lord  ? 

Palamon.  Thou  bring'st  such  pelting  ^  scurvy  news  con- 
tinually, 260 
Thou  art  not  worthy  life  !     I  will  not  go. 

Gaoler.  Indeed  you  must,  my  lord. 

Palamon.  May  I  see  the  garden  ? 

Gaoler.  No. 

1  Paltry,  contemptible. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  403 

Palamon.  Then  I  am  resolv'd  I  will  not  go. 

Gaoler.  I  must 

Constrain  you  then ;  and,  for  you  are  dangerous, 
I'll  clap  more  irons  on  you. 

Palamon.  Do,  good  keeper  ! 

I'll  shake  'em  so,  ye  shall  not  sleep ; 
I'll  make  ye  a  new  morris  !  ^     Must  I  go  ? 

Gaoler.  There  is  no  remedy. 

Palamon.  Farewell,  kind  window  ! 

May  rude  wind  never  hurt  thee  !  —  O  my  lady, 
If  ever  thou  hast  felt  what  sorrow  was,  270 

Dream  how  I  suffer  !  —  Come,  now  bury  me.  \^Exeunt? 

Scene  III.  —  The  Country  near  Athens. 

Enter  Arcite. 

Arcite.  Banish'd  the  kingdom  ?     'Tis  a  benefit, 
A  mercy  I  must  thank  'em  for ;  but  banish'd 
The  free  enjoying  of  that  face  I  die  for, 
Oj'twas  a  studied  punishment,  a  death 
Beyond  imagination  !  such  a  vengeance 
That,  were  I  old  and  wicked,  all  my  sins 
Could  never  pluck  upon  me.  —  Palamon, 
Thou  hast  the  start  now ;  thou  shalt  stay  and  see 
Her  bright  eyes  break  each  morning  'gainst  thy  window. 
And  let  in  life  into  thee  ;  thou  shalt  feed  10 

Upon  the  sweetness  of  a  noble  beauty. 
That  nature  ne'er  exceeded,  nor  ne'er  shall. 
Good  gods,  what  happiness  has  Palamon  ! 

1  Morris-dance. 

2  The   critics    generally  assign    this    scene    and  the  rest  of  Act  ii  to 
Fletcher. 


404  THE  TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

Twenty  to  one,  he'll  come  to  speak  to  her ; 

And,  if  she  be  as  gentle  as  she's  fair, 

I  know  she's  his ;  he  has  a  tongue  will  tame 

Tempests,  and  make  the  wild  rocks  wanton.     Come  what 

can  come, 
The  worst  is  death ;  I  will  not  leave  the  kingdom. 
I  know  mine  own  is  but  a  heap  of  ruins. 
And  no  redress  there  ;  if  I  go,  he  has  her.  20 

I  am  resolv'd ;  another  shape  shall  make  me,^ 
Or  end  my  fortunes  ;  either  way,  I'm  happy  : 
I'll  see  her,  and  be  near  her,  or  no  more. 

Enter  four  Countrymen  ;  one  7vith  a  garland  before  them. 

1st  Countryman.  My  masters,  I'll  be  there,  that's  certain. 

2d  Countryman.  And  I'll  be  there. 

jd  Countryman.  And  I. 

4th  Countryman.  Why  then,  have  with  ye,  boys,  'tis  but 
a  chiding ; 
Let  the  plough  play  to-day  !  I'll  tickle't  out 
Of  the  jades'  tails  to-morrow  ! 

1st  Countryman.  I  am  sure 

To  have  my  wife  as  jealous  as  a  turkey  : 
But  that's  all  one  ;  I'll  go  through,  let  her  mumble.  30 

3d  Countryman.  Do  we  all  hold^  against  the  Maying? 

4th  Countryman.  Hold  !  what  should  ail  us  ? 

jd  Countryman.  Areas  will  be  there. 

2d  Countryman.  And  Sennois, 
And  Rycas  ;  and  three  better  lads  ne'er  danc'd 
Under  green  tree  ;  and  ye  know  what  wenches,  ha  ! 
But  will  the  dainty  domine,  the  schoolmaster, 

1  By  assuming  a  disguise  I  shall  succeed. 

2  Hold  to  an  agreement. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  405 

Keep  touch/  do  you  think  ?  for  he  does  all,  ye  know. 

3d  Countryman.  He'll    eat    a   horn-book,-    ere    he    fail ; 
go  to  ! 
The  matter's  too  far  driven  between 

Him  and  the  tanner's  daughter,  to  let  slip  now ;  40 

And  she  must  see  the  duke,  and  she  must  dance  too. 

4th  Countryman.  Shall  we  be  lusty? 

2d  Countryjnan.  Here  I'll  be. 

And  there  I'll  be,  for  our  town ;  and  here  again. 
And  there  again  !     Ha,  boys,  heigh  for  the  weavers  !  ^ 

1st  Countryman.  This  must  be  done  i'  the  woods. 

4th  Countryman.  O,  pardon  me  ! 

2d  Countryman.  By   any   means ;    our  thing  of  learning 
says  so ; 
Where  he  himself  will  edify  the  duke 

Most  parlously*  in  our  behalfs  :  he's  excellent  i'  the  woods  ; 
Bring  him  to  th'  plains,  his  learning  makes  no  cry. 

jd  Countryman.  We'll  see   the  sports ;  then  every  man 
to's  tackle  !  50 

And,  sweet  companions,  let's  rehearse  by  any  means, 
Before  the  ladies  see  us,  and  do  sweetly. 
And  God  knows  what  may  come  on't. 

4th  Countryman.  Content ;  the  sports 

Once  ended,  we'll  perform.     Away,  boys,  and  hold  ! 

Arcite.  By  your  leaves,  honest  friends  ;  pray  you,  whither 
go  you? 

1  Keep  his  appointment ;  a  phrase  of  doubtful  origin.  Nicholson  says 
that  it  probably  came  from  the  custom  of  shaking  hands  on  a  bargain  or 
agreement.     Cf.  the  old  word  handfast. 

2  The  child's  primer,  which  at  first  was  a  single  leaf,  containing  the 
Lord's  Prayer  and  alphabet,  set  in  a  frame  of  wood,  and  covered  with 
horn  to  keep  it  from  being  soiled  or  torn. 

3  "  Hurrah  for  the  singers !  "    Weavers  excelled  in  singing. 
•*  Amazingly. 


4o6  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  ii, 

4th  Countryman.  Whither?  why,  what  a  question's  that ! 

Arcite.  Yes,  'tis  a  question 

To  me  that  know  not. 

Sd  Countryman.  To  the  games,  my  friend. 

2d  Countryman.  Where  were  you  bred,  you  know  it  not  ? 

Arcite.  Not  far,  sir. 

Are  there  such  games  to-day? 

1st  Countryman.  Yes,  marry,  are  there ; 

And  such  as  you  ne'er  saw  :  the  duke  himself  60 

Will  be  in  person  there. 

Arcite.  What  pastimes  are  they? 

2d  Countryman.  Wrestling  and  running.  —  'Tis  a  pretty 
fellow. 

3d  Countryman.  Thou  wilt  not  go  along  ? 

Arcite.  Not  yet,  sir. 

4th  Countryman.  Well,  sir, 

Take  your  own  time.  —  Come,  boys  ! 

1st  Countryman.  My  mind  misgives  me 

This  fellow  has  a  vengeance  trick  o'  the  hip ;  ^ 
Mark,  how  his  body's  made  for't ! 

2d  Countryman.  I'll  be  hang'd  though 

if  he  dare  venture  ;  hang  him,  plum-porridge  ! 
He  wrestle?     He  roast  eggs  !  ^     Come,  let's  be  gone,  lads. 

\_Exeunt  Countrymen. 

Arcite.  This  is  an  offer'd  opportunity 
I  durst  not  wish  for.     Well  I  could  have  wrestled,  70 

The  best  men  call'd  it  excellent ;  and  run 
Swifter  than  wind  upon  a  field  of  corn, 
Curling  the  wealthy  ears,  e'er  flew.     I'll  venture, 

1  In  wrestling. 

2  A  contemptuous  expression,  intimating  that  the  rustic  thought  Arcite 
good  for  nothing. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  407 

And  in  some  poor  disguise  be  there ;  who  knows 

Whether  my  brows  may  not  be  girt  with  garlands, 

And  happiness  prefer  me  to  a  place 

Where  I  may  ever  dwell  in  sight  of  her  ?  \_ExiL 


Scene  IV.  —  Athens.     A  Roo7n  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Gaoler's  Daughter. 

Daughter.  Why  should  I  love  this  gentleman?     'Tis  odds 
He  never  will  affect  ^  me  ;  I  am  base, 
My  father  the  mean  keeper  of  his  prison, 
And  he  a  prince  :  to  marry  him  is  hopeless, 
To  love  him  else  is  witless.     Out  upon't ! 
What  pushes  are  we  wenches  driven  to. 
When  fifteen  once  has  found  us  !     First,  I  saw  him ; 
I,  seeing,  thought  he  was  a  goodly  man  ; 
He  has  as  much  to  please  a  woman  in  him  — 
If  he  please  to  bestow  it  so  —  as  ever  10 

These  eyes  yet  look'd  on  :  next,  I  pitied  him  ; 
And  so  would  any  young  wench,  o'  my  conscience, 
That  ever  dream 'd,  or  vow'd  her  whole  affection 
To  a  young  handsome  man  :  then,  I  lov'd  him  ! 
Extremely  lov'd  him,  infinitely  lov'd  him  ! 
And  yet  he  had  a  cousin,  fair  as  he  too ; 
But  in  my  heart  was  Palamon,  and  there,  * 

Lord,  what  a  coil  he  keeps  !     To  hear  him 
Sing  in  an  evening,  what  a  heaven  it  is  ! 
And  yet  his  songs  are  sad  ones.     Fairer  spoken  20 

Was  never  gentleman  ;  when  I  come  in 
To  bring  him  water  in  a  morning,  first 

1  Love. 


408  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

He  bows  his  noble  body,  then  salutes  me  thus  : 

"  Fair  gentle  maid,  good  morrow  !  may  thy  goodness 

Get  thee  a  happy  husband  !  "     Once,  he  kiss'd  me ; 

I  lov'd  my  Hps  the  better  ten  days  after : 

Would  he  would  do  so  every  day  !     He  grieves  much, 

And  me  as  much  to  see  his  misery. 

What  should  I  do,  to  make  him  know  I  love  him  ? 

For  I  would  fain  possess  him  :  say  I  ventur'd  30 

To  set  him  free  ?  what  says  the  law  then  ? 

Thus  much  for  law,  or  kindred  !     I  will  do  it, 

And  this  night  or  to-morrow  he  shall  love  me.  \_Exit. 


Scene  V.  —  An  Open  Place  in  Athens.     A  Short  Flourish 
of  Cornets^  and  Shouts  withi?!. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Pirithous,  Emilia  ;  Arcite, 
disguised,  wearing  a  garland;  and  Countrymen. 

Theseus.  You  have  done  worthily ;  I  have  not  seen, 
Since  Hercules,  a  man  of  tougher  sinews. 
Whate'er  you  are,  you  run  the  best  and  wrestle. 
That  these  times  can  allow. 

Arcite.  I  am  proud  to  please  you. 

Theseus.  What  country  bred  you  ? 

Arcite.  This ;  but  far  off,  prince. 

Theseus.  Are  you  a  gentleman? 

Arcite.  My  father  said  so. 

And  to  those  gentle  uses  gave  me  life. 

Theseus.  Are  you  his  heir? 

Arcite.  His  youngest,  sir. 

Theseus.  Your  father. 

Sure,  is  a  happy  sire,  then.     What  proves  you  ? 


SCENE  v.j  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  409 

Arcite.  A  little  of  all  noble  qualities  :  10 

I  could  have  kept  a  hawk,  and  well  have  halloo'd 
To  a  deep  cry  of  dogs  ;  I  dare  not  praise 
My  feat  in  horsemanship,  yet  they  that  knew  me 
Would  say  it  was  my  best  piece ;  last,  and  greatest, 
I  would  be  thought  a  soldier. 

Theseus.  You  are  perfect. 

Pirithous.  Upon  my  soul,  a  proper  man  ! 

Emilia.  He  is  so. 

Pirithous.  How  do  you  like  him,  lady  ? 

Hippolyta.  I  admire  him  ; 

I  have  not  seen  so  young  a  man  so  noble, 
If  he  say  true,  of  his  sort. 

Emilia.  Believe, 

His  mother  was  a  wondrous  handsome  woman ;  20 

His  face  methinks  goes  that  way. 

Hippolyta.  But  his  body 

And  fiery  mind  illustrate  a  brave  father. 

Pirithous.  Mark  how  his  virtue,  like  a  hidden  sun, 
Breaks  through  his  baser  garments  ! 

Hippolyta.  He's  well  got,  sure. 

Theseus.  What  made  you  seek  this  place,  sir  ? 

Arcite.  Noble  Theseus, 

To  purchase  name,  and  do  my  ablest  service 
To  such  a  well-found  wonder  as  thy  worth ; 
For  only  in  thy  court,  of  all  the  world. 
Dwells  fair-eyed  Honour. 

Pirithous.  All  his  words  are  worthy. 

Theseus.  Sir,  we  are  much  indebted  to  your  travail,         30 
Nor  shall  you  loose  your  wish.  —  Pirithous, 
Dispose  of  this  fair  gentleman. 

Pirithous.  Thanks,  Theseus.  — 


4IO  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

Whate'er  you  are,  you're  mine ;  and  I  shall  give  you 
To  a  most  noble  service,  —  to  this  lady, 
This  bright  young  virgin  :  pray  observe  her  goodness. 
You've  honour'd  her  fair  birthday  with  your  virtues. 
And,  as  your  due,  you're  hers ;  kiss  her  fair  hand,  sir. 

Arcite.  Sir,  you're  a  noble  giver.  —  Dearest  beauty. 
Thus  let  me  seal  my  vow'd  faith  !  when  your  servant  — 
Your  most  unworthy  creature  —  but  offends  you,  40 

Command  him  die,  he  shall. 

Emilia.  That  were  too  cruel. 

If  you  deserve  well,  sir,  I  shall  soon  see't : 
You're  mine  ;  and  somewhat  better  than  your  rank 
I'll  use  you. 

Pirithous.  I'll  see  you  furnish'd  :  and  because  you  say 
You  are  a  horseman,  I  must  needs  entreat  you 
This  afternoon  to  ride ;  but  'tis  a  rough  one. 

Arcite.  I  like  him  better,  prince ;  I  shall  not  then 
Freeze  in  my  saddle. 

Theseus.  Sweet,  you  must  be  ready  — 

And  3^ou,  Emilia  —  and  you,  friend  —  and  all  —  50 

To-morrow,  by  the  sun,  to  do  observance 
To  flow'ry  May,  in  Dian's  wood.  —  Wait  well,  sir, 
Upon  your  mistress  !  —  Emily,  I  hope 
He  shall  not  go  afoot. 

Emilia.  That  were  a  shame,  sir, 

While  I  have  horses.  —  Take  your  choice ;  and  what 
You  want  at  any  time,  let  me  but  know  it. 
If  you  serve  faithfully,  I  dare  assure  you 
You'll  find  a  loving  mistress. 

Arcite.  If  I  do  not, 

Let  me  find  that  my  father  ever  hated,  — 
Disgrace  and  blows  ! 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  411 

Theseus,         Go,  lead  the  way  ;  you've  won  it ;  60 

It  shall  be  so ;  you  shall  receive  all  dues 
Fit  for  the  honour  you  have  won ;  'twere  wrong  else.  — 
Sister,  beshrew  my  heart,  you  have  a  servant, 
That,  if  I  were  a  woman,  would  be  master ; 
But  you  are  wise. 

Emilia,  I  hope  too  wise  for  that,  sir. 

[Flourish,     Exeunt. 


Scene  VI. — Before  the  Prison, 

Enter  Gaoler's  Daughter. 

Daughter.  Let  all  the  dukes  and  all  the  devils  roar. 
He  is  at  liberty  !     I've  ventur'd  for  him ; 
And  out  I  have  brought  him  to  a  little  wood 
A  mile  hence.     I  have  sent  him  where  a  cedar, 
Higher  than  all  the  rest,  spreads  like  a  plane 
Fast  by  a  brook ;  and  there  he  shall  keep  close, 
Till  I  provide  him  files  and  food,  for  yet 
His  iron  bracelets  are  not  off.     O  Love, 
What  a  stout-hearted  child  thou  art !     My  father 
Durst  better  have  endur'd  cold  iron  than  done  it. 
I  love  him  beyond  love  and  beyond  reason. 
Or  wit,  or  safety.     I  have  made  him  know  it : 
I  care  not ;  I  am  desperate.     If  the  law 
Find  me,  and  then  condemn  me  for't,  some  wenches, 
Some  honest-hearted  maids,  will  sing  my  dirge, 
And  tell  to  memory  my  death  was  noble. 
Dying  almost  a  martyr.     That  way  he  takes, 
I  purpose,  is  my  way  too  ;  sure  he  cannot 
Be  so  unmanly  as  to  leave  me  here  ! 


412  THE  TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  II. 

If  he  do,  maids  will  not  so  easily  20 

Trust  men  again  :  and  yet  he  has  not  thank'd  me 

For  what  I  have  done ;  no,  not  so  much  as  kiss'd  me ; 

And  that,  methinks,  is  not  so  well ;  nor  scarcely 

Could  I  persuade  him  to  become  a  freeman. 

He  made  such  scruples  of  the  wrong  he  did 

To  me  and  to  my  father.     Yet,  I  hope. 

When  he  considers  more,  this  love  of  mine 

Will  take  more  root  within  him  :  let  him  do 

What  he  will  with  me,  so  he  use  me  kindly ! 

For  use  me  so  he  shall,  or  I'll  proclaim  him,  30 

And  to  his  face,  no  man.     I'll  presently 

Provide  him  necessaries,^  and  pack  my  clothes  up. 

And  where  there  is  a  patch  of  ground  I'll  venture. 

So  he  be  with  me  ;  by  him,  like  a  shadow, 

I'll  ever  dwell.     Within  this  hour  the  whoo-bub^ 

Will  be  all  o'er  the  prison  ;  I  am  then 

Kissing  the  man  they  look  for.  —  Farewell,  father  ! 

Get  many  more  such  prisoners  and  such  daughters. 

And  shortly  you  may  keep  yourself.     Now  to  him  !      [^Exit. 

1  Pronounced  nessaries,  as  in  Julius  Ccesar,  ii,  i,  178. 

2  Hubbub. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  41 3 


ACT   III. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Forest.      Cornets  in  Sundry  Places.      Noise 
and  Hallooing,  as  of  People  a-Maying, 

Enter  Arcite. 

Arcite.  The  duke  has  lost  Hippolyta ;  each  took 
A  several  laund.^     This  is  a  solemn  rite 
They  owe  bloom'd  May,  and  the  Athenians  pay  it 
To  the  heart  of  ceremony.  —  O  queen  Emilia, 
Fresher  than  May,  sweeter 
Than  her  gold  buttons  on  the  boughs,  or  all 
Th'  enamell'd  knacks^  o'  the  mead  or  garden  !  yea. 
We  challenge  too  the  bank  of  any  nymph. 
That  makes  the  stream  seem  flowers ;  thou,  O  jewel 
O'  the  wood,  o'  the  world,  hast  likewise  bless'd  a  place       10 
With  thy  sole  presence  !     In  thy  rumination 
That  I,  poor  man,  might  eftsoons^  come  between. 
And  chop^  on  some  cold  thought !  —  Thrice  blessed  chance. 
To  drop  on  such  a  mistress,  expectation 
Most  guiltless  on't !     Tell  me,  O  lady  Fortune  — 
Next  after  Emily  my  sovereign  —  how  far 
I  may  be  proud.     She  takes  strong  note  of  me, 
Hath  made  me  near  her,  and  this  beauteous  morn, 

1  Lawn,  glade ;  several,  separate. 

2  Ornaments.  3  Soon  after. 

4  "  Exchange,  make  an  exchange.  Arcite  means,  Oh !  that  I  might, 
whilst  thou  art  meditating,  come  between,  soon  after  some  cold  or  sober 
tliought,  and  make  an  exchange,  by  changing  those  cold  thoughts  to 
thoughts  of  love !  "  —  SkecU, 


414  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  hi. 

The  prim'st  of  all  the  year,  presents  me  with 

A  brace  of  horses  ;  two  such  steeds  might  well  20 

Be  by  a  pair  of  kings  back'd,  in  a  field 

That  their  crowns'  titles  tried.     Alas,  alas, 

Poor  cousin  Palamon,  poor  prisoner  !  thou 

So  little  dream'st  upon  my  fortune,  that 

Thou  think'st  thyself  the  happier  thing,  to  be 

So  near  Emilia  !     Me  thou  deem'st  at  Thebes, 

And  therein  wretched,  although  free  ;  but  if 

Thou  knew'st  my  mistress  breath'd  on  me,  and  that 

I  ear'd  her  language,  liv'd  in  her  eye,  O  coz. 

What  passion  would  enclose  thee  ! 

Enter  Palamon  out  of  a  bush  with  his  shackles;  he  bends 
his  fist  at  Arcite. 

Palamon.  Traitor  kinsman !        30 

Thou  shouldst  perceive  my  passion,  if  these  signs 
Of  prisonment  were  off  me,  and  this  hand 
But  owner  of  a  sword  !     By  all  oaths  in  one, 
I,  and  the  justice  of  my  love,  would  make  thee 
A  confess'd  traitor  !     O  thou  most  perfidious 
That  ever  gently  look'd  !  the  void'st  of  honour 
That  e'er  bore  gentle  token  !  falsest  cousin 
That  ever  blood  made  kin  !  call'st  thou  her  thine? 
I'll  prove  it  in  my  shackles,  with  these  hands 
Void  of  appointment,^  that  thou  liest,  and  art  40 

A  very  thief  in  love,  a  chaffy  lord. 
Nor  worth  the  name  of  villain  !     Had  I  a  sword, 
And  these  house-clogs  away  — 

Arcite.  Dear  cousin  Palamon  — 

Palamon.     Cozener  Arcite,  give  me  language  such 

1  Equipment  for  fighting. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  415 

As  thou  hast  show'd  me  feat ! 

Arcite.  Not  finding  in 

The  circuit  of  my  breast  any  gross  stuff 
To  form  me  Hke  your  blazon,  holds  me  to 
This  gentleness  of  answer  :  'tis  in  your  passion 
That  thus  mistakes ;  the  which,  to  you  being  enemy, 
Cannot  to  me  be  kind.     Honour  and  honesty  50 

I  cherish  and  depend  on,  howsoe'er 
You  skip  them  in  me,  and  with  them,  fair  coz, 
I'll  maintain  my  proceedings.  Pray  be  pleas'd 
To  show  in  generous  terms  your  griefs,  since  that 
Your  question's  with  your  equal,  who  professes 
To  clear  his  own  way  with  the  mind  and  sword 
Of  a  true  gentleman. 

Palamon.  That  thou  durst,  Arcite  ! 

Arcite.  My  coz,  my  coz,  you  have  been  well  adv^rtis'd 
How  much  I  dare ;  you've  seen  me  use  my  sword 
Against  the  advice  of  fear.     Sure,  of  another  60 

You  would  not  hear  me  doubted,  but  your  silence 
Should  break  out,  though  i'  the  sanctuary. 

Palamon.  Sir, 

I've  seen  you  move  in  such  a  place,  which  well 
Might  justify  your  manhood  ;  you  were  call'd 
A  good  knight  and  a  bold  :   but  the  whole  week's  not  fair, 
If  any  day  it  rain.     Their  valiant  temper 
Men  lose  when  they  incline  to  treachery ; 
And  then  they  fight  like  compell'd  bears,  would  fly 
Were  they  not  tied. 

Arcite,  Kinsman,  you  might  as  well 

Speak  this,  and  act  it  in  your  glass,  as  to  70 

His  ear  which  now  disdains  you. 

Palamon',  Come  up  to  me  ! 


41 6  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  III. 

Quit  me  of  these  cold  gyves/  give  me  a  sword, 

Though  it  be  rusty,  and  the  charity 

Of  one  meal  lend  me  ;  come  before  me  then, 

A  good  sword  in  thy  hand,  and  do  but  say 

That  Emily  is  thine,  I  will  forgive 

The  trespass  thou  hast  done  me,  yea,  my  Hfe, 

If  then  thou  carry't ;  and  brave  souls  in  shades. 

That  have  died  manly,  which  will  seek  of  me 

Some  news  from  earth,  they  shall  get  none  but  this,  80 

That  thou  art  brave  and  noble. 

Arcite.  Be  content ; 

Again  betake  you  to  your  hawthorn-house. 
With  counsel  of  the  night,  I  will  be  here 
With  wholesome  viands  ;  these  impediments 
Will  I  file  off ;  you  shall  have  garments,  and 
Perfumes  to  kill  the  smell  o'  the  prison ;  after. 
When  you  shall  stretch  yourself,  and  say  but,  "Arcite, 
I  am  in  plight !  "  there  shall  be  at  your  choice 
Both  sword  and  armour. 

Palamon.  O  you  heavens,  dares  any 

So  noble  bear  a  guilty  business  ?     None  90 

But  only  Arcite  ;  therefore  none  but  Arcite 
In  this  kind  is  so  bold. 

Arcite.  Sweet  Palamon  — 

Palamon.  I  do  embrace  you,  and  your  offer :  for 
Your  offer  do't  I  only,  sir ;  your  person,  -m 

Without  hypocrisy,  I  may  not  wish  ^ 

More  than  my  sword's  edge  on't.        \_Horns  winded  within. 

Arcite.  You  hear  the  horns  : 

Enter  your  musit,^  lest  this  match  between's 

1  Free  me  from  these  fetters. 

2  "  The  opening  in  a  hedge  through  which  a  hare,  or  other  beast  of  sport, 
is  accustomed  to  pass."  —  Nares. 


SCENE  I.J  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  417 

Be  cross'd  ere  met.     Give  me  your  hand  ;  farewell ! 
I'll  bring  you  every  needful  thing ;  I  pray  you 
Take  comfort,  and  be  strong. 

Palamon.  -  Pray  hold  your  promise,    100 

And  do  the  deed  with  a  bent  ^  brow.     Most  certain 
You  love  me  not ;  be  rough  with  me,  and  pour 
This  oil  out  of  your  language.     By  this  air, 
I  could  for  each  word  give  a  cuff,  my  stomach 
Not  reconcil'd  by  reason  ! 

Arcite.  Plainly  spoken  ! 

Yet  pardon  me  hard  language  :  when  I  spur 
My  horse,  I  chide  him  not ;  content  and  anger 

\_Horns  winded  again. 
In  me  have  but  one  face.  —  Hark,  sir  !  they  call 
The  scatter'd  to  the  banquet ;  you  must  guess 
I  have  an  office  there. 

Palamon.  Sir,  your  attendance  no 

Cannot  please  heaven ;  and  I  know  your  office 
Unjustly  is  achiev'd. 

Arcite.  I've  a  good  title, 

I  am  persuaded :  this  question,  sick  between's, 
By  bleeding  must  be  cur'd.     I  am  a  suitor 
That  to  your  sword  you  will  bequeath  this  plea, 
And  talk  of  it  no  more. 

Palamon.  But  this  one  word  : 

You  are  going  now  to  gaze  upon  my  mistress ; 
For,  note  you,  mine  she  is  — 

Arcite.  Nay,  then  — 

Palamon.  Nay,  pray  you  !  — 

You  talk  of  feeding  me  to  breed  me  strength  : 
You  are  going  now  to  look  upon  a  sun  120 

1  Angry. 


41 8  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  ill. 

That  strengthens  what  it  looks  on ;  there  you  have 

A  vantage  o'er  me ;  but  enjoy  it  till 

I  may  enforce  my  remedy.     Farewell !  \_Exeunt} 


Scene  II.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Forest 
Enter  Gaoler's  Daughter. 

Daughter,  He  has  mistook  the  brake  I  meant,  is  gone 
After  his  fancy.     'Tis  now  well-nigh  morning ; 
No  matter  !  would  it  were  perpetual  night, 
And  darkness  lord  o'  the  world  !  —  Hark  !  'tis  a  wolf; 
In  me  hath  grief  slain  fear,  and,  but  for  one  thing, 
I  care  for  nothing,  and  that's  Palamon. 
I  reck  not  if  the  wolves  would  jaw  me,  so 
He  had  this  file.     What  if  I  halloo'd  for  him? 
I  cannot  halloo  ;  if  I  whoop'd,  what  then  ? 
If  he  not  answer'd,  I  should  call  a  wolf. 
And  do  him  but  that  service.     I  have  heard 
Strange  howls  this  livelong  night ;  why  may't  not  be 
They  have  made  prey  of  him  ?     He  has  no  weapons. 
He  cannot  run ;  the  jingling  of  his  gyves 
Might  call  fell  things  to  listen,  who  have  in  them 
A  sense  to  know  a  man  unarm 'd,  and  can 
Smell  where  resistance  is.     I'll  set  it  down 
He's  torn  to  pieces ;  they  howl'd  many  together, 
And  then  they  fed  on  him  :  so  much  for  that ! 
Be  bold  to  ring  the  bell ;  how  stand  I  then  ? 
All's  char'd  ^  when  he  is  gone.     No,  no,  I  lie. 
My  father's  to  be  hang'd  for  his  escape ; 

1  The  critics  agree  in  assigning  this  scene  to  Shakespeare. 

2  All  is  dispatched:  from  this  stem  is  derived  chores. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  419 

Myself  to  beg,  if  I  priz'd  life  so  much 

As  to  deny  my  act ;  but  that  I  would  not, 

Should  I  try  death  by  dozens  !  —  I  am  mop'd^ : 

Food  took  I  none  these  two  days  — 

Sipp'd  some  water.     I  have  not  clos'd  mine  eyes. 

Save  when  my  lids  scour'd  off  their  brine.     Alas, 

Dissolve,  my  life  !  let  not  my  sense  unsettle, 

Lest  I  should  drown,  or  stab,  or  hang  myself !  30 

O  state  of  nature,  fail  together  in  me, 

Since  thy  best  props  are  warp'd  !  —  So  !  which  way  now? 

The  best  way  is  the  next  way  to  a  grave  ; 

Each  errant  step  beside  is  torment.     Lo, 

The  moon  is  down,  the  crickets  chirp,  the  screech-owl 

Calls  in  the  dawn  !  all  offices  are  done, 

Save  what  I  fail  in ;  but  the  point  is  this, 

An  end,  and  that  is  all !  ^  [Exit, 


Scene  III.  —  The  Same  Part  of  the  Forest  as  in  Scene  I. 

Enter  Arcite,  with  meat^  wine,  files,  etc. 

Arcite.  I  should  be  near  the  place.  —  Ho,  cousin  Pala- 
mon  ! 

Enter  Palamon. 

Palarnon.  Arcite? 

Arcite.  The  same ;  I've  brought  you  food  and  files. 

1  Used  up. 

2  This  scene  is  usually  assigned  to  Shakespeare,  but  Hickson  remarks : 
"  It  is  to  this  scene  that  we  referred  by  anticipation  as  giving  an  instance  of 
Shakespeare's  judgment.  It  can  hardly  be  said  to  explain  any  necessary 
circumstance ;  .  .  .  but  it  supplies  the  due  gradation  between  a  mind  dis- 
eased and  madness;   and  in  connection  with  another  scene  at  which  we 


420  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [act  III. 

Come  forth,  and  fear  not ;  here's  no  Theseus. 

Palamon.  Nor  none  so  honest,  Arcite. 

Arcite.  That's  no  matter ; 

We'll  argue  that  hereafter.     Come,  take  courage ; 
You  shall  not  die  thus  beastly ;  ^  here,  sir,  drink. 
I  know  you're  faint ;  then  I'll  talk  further  with  you. 

Palamon.  Arcite,  thou  might'st  now  poison  me. 

Arcite.  I  might  \ 

But  I  must  fear  you  first.     Sit  down ;  and,  good  now, 
No  more  of  these  vain  parleys  !     Let  us  not,  lo 

Having  our  ancient  reputation  with  us. 
Make  talk  for  fools  and  cowards.   To  your  health  !  \_Drinks. 

Palamon.  Do. 

Arcite.  Pray,  sit  down  then ;  and  let  me  entreat  you. 

By  all  the  honesty  and  honour  in  you. 
No  mention  of  this  woman  !  'twill  disturb  us ; 
We  shall  have  time  enough. 

Pala?non.  Well,  sir,  I'll  pledge  you.  [^Drinks. 

Arcite.  Drink  a  good   hearty  draught;    it   breeds   good 
blood,  man. 
Do  not  you  feel  it  thaw  you  ? 

Palamon.  Stay ;  I'll  tell  you 

After  a  draught  or  two  more. 

shall  shortly  arrive,  it  displays  a  depth  of  insight  into  the  psychological 
character  of  this  state  only  exceeded  by  Shakespeare  himself,  in  Lear.  Let 
our  readers  observe  in  particular  the  unselfish  anxiety  for  Palamon's  safety, 
and  her  subsequent  terror  at  her  own  disordered  senses.  Tlie  introduction 
of  the  popular  notion  that  wild  beasts  '  have  a  sense  to  know  a  rman 
unarm'd'  is  quite  a  Shakespearean  illustration;  and  we  do  not  know  an 
instance  of  finer  drawing  than  this  of  her  imagination  painting,  as  absolute 
reality,  the  subject  of  her  first  fear.  From  this  conviction  (of  Palamon's 
death)  we  come  naturally  to  the  concluding  lines,  beyond  which  the  next 
step  is  madness." 

1  Unlike  a  human  being. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  42 1 

Arciie.  Spare  it  not ; 

The  duke  has  more,  coz.     Eat  now. 

Palamon.  Yes. 

Arcite.  I  am  glad        20 

You  have  so  good  a  stomach. 

Palamon.  I  am  gladder 

I  have  so  good  meat  to't. 

Arcite.  Is't  not  mad  lodging 

Here  in  the  wild  woods,  cousin  ? 

Palamon.  Yes,  for  them 

That  have  wild  consciences. 

Arcite.  How  tastes  your  victuals  ? 

Your  hunger  needs  no  sauce,  I  see. 

Palamon.  Not  much ; 

But  if  it  did,  yours  is  too  tart,  sweet  cousin. 
What  is  this  ? 

Arcite.  Venison. 

Palamon.  'Tis  a  lusty  meat. 

Give  me  more  wine  :  here,  Arcite,  to  the  wenches 
We  have  known  in  our  days  !    The  lord  steward's  daughter ; 
Do  you  remember  her? 

Arcite.  After  you,  coz.  30 

Palamon.  She  lov'd  a  black-hair'd  man. 

Arciie.  She  did  so  ;  well,  sir  ? 

Palamon.  And  I  have  heard  some  call  him  Arcite  ;  and  — 

Arcite.     Out  with  it,  faith  ! 

Palamon.  She  met  him  in  an  arbour  : 

What  did  she  there,  coz? 

Arcite.  Well,  the  marshal's  sister 

Had  her  share  too,  as  I  remember,  cousin, 
Else  there  be  tales  abroad ;  you'll  pledge  her  ? 

Palamon.  Yes. 


422  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  in. 

Arcite.  A  pretty  brown  wench  'tis  !     There  was  a  time 
When  young  men  went  a-hunting,  and  a  wood, 
And  a  broad  beech ;  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale.^ — 
Heigh-ho  ! 

Palamon.  For  Emily,  upon  my  Hfe  !     Fool,  40 

Away  with  this  strain'd  mirth  !     I  say  again, 
That  sigh  was  breath'd  for  Emily  !     Base  cousin, 
Dar'st  thou  break ^  first? 

Arcite.  You  are  wide. 

Palamon.  By  heaven  and  earth, 

There's  nothing  in  thee  honest ! 

Arcite.  Then  I'll  leave  you ; 

You  are  a  beast  now. 

Palamon.  As  thou  mak'st  me,  traitor. 

Arcite.  There's  all  things  needful,  —  files  and  shirts,  and 
perfumes. 
I'll  come  again  some  two  hours  hence,  and  bring 
That  that  shall  quiet  all. 

Palamon.  A  sword  and  armour? 

Arcite.  Fear  me  not.     You  are  now  too  foul ;  farewell ! 
Get  off  your  trinkets  !  you  shall  want  nought. 

Palamon.  Sirrah —    50 

Arcite.  I'll  hear  no  more  !  \^Exit. 

Palamon.  If  he  keep  touch,  he  dies  for't.  \_Exit? 

1  Common  Shakespearean  phrase ;  cf.  Merry  Wives,  i,  4,  159 ;  As  You 
Like  It,  ii,  7,  28  ;    Taming  of  the  Shrew,  iv,  i,  60. 

2  Break  our  agreement. 

8  "  This  is  one  of  those  scenes  by  the  introduction  of  which  Fletcher 
succeeded  in  spoiling  a  good  play."  —  Littledale.  "In  most  respects  the 
scene  is  not  very  characteristic  of  either  writer,  but  leans  towards  Fletcher ; 
and  one  argument  for  him  might  be  drawn  from  an  interchange  of  sarcasms 
between  the  two  kinsmen,  in  which  they  retort  on  each  other  former  amor- 
ous adventures  :  such  a  dialogue  is  quite  like  Fletcher's  men  of  gayety ;  and 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  423 

Scene  IV.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Gaoler's  Daughter. 

Daughter.     I'm  very  cold  ;  and  all  the  stars  are  out  too, 
The  little  stars,  and  all  that  look  Hke  aglets  ^ : 
The  sun  has  seen  my  folly.     Palamon  ! 
Alas,  no,  he's  in  heaven  !  — Where  am  I  now?  — 
Yonder's  the  sea,  and  there's  a  ship  ;  how't  tumbles  ! 
And  there's  a  rock  lies  watching  under  water  \ 
Now,  now,  it  beats  upon  it !  now,  now,  now  ! 
There's  a  leak  sprung,  a  sound  one ;  how  they  cry  ! 
Run  her  before  the  wind,  you'll  lose  all  else  ! 
Up  with  a  course  or  two,  and  tack  about,  boys  !  10 

Good  night,  good  night ;  y'are  gone  !  —  I'm  very  hungry  : 
Would  I  could  find  a  fine  frog  1  he  would  tell  me 
News  from  all  parts  of  the  world  ;  then  would  I  make 
A  carrack^  of  a  cockle-shell,  and  sail 
By  east  and  north-east  to  the  King  of  pygmies,^ 
For  he  tells  fortunes  rarely.     Now  my  father, 
Twenty  to  one  is  truss'd*  up  in  a  trice 
To-morrow  morning ;  I'll  say  never  a  word. 

needless  degradation  of  his  principal  characters  is  a  fault  of  which  Shake- 
speare is  not  guilty."  —  Spalding.  "  The  third  scene,  without  any  doubt,  is  by 
Fletcher.  Arcite  brings  '  food  and  files'  tcT  Palamon  ;  and,  after  some  patter 
of  early  reminiscences  between  them  utterly  out  of  character,  they  separate." 
—  Hickson. 

1  Spangles. 

2  A  ship  of  burden. 

3  "  A  fabulous  people,  said  to  be  of  the  height  oi  Q.pygme  (Tru-y/u,^),  or  13 i 
inches,  mentioned  by  Homer  {Iliad,  iii,  5)  as  dwelling  on  the  shores  of 
Ocean,  and  at  times  subject  to  attacks  by  cranes.  Dwarfs  have  often  been 
credited  with  supernatural  powers,  especially  in  Northern  mythology."  — 
Skeat.    Cf.  Much  Ado,  ii,  i,  278. 

4  Pinioned  like  a  fowl,  hanged. 


424  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [act  ill. 

(Sings)  For  Fll  cut  my  green  coat  afoot  above  my  knee  ; 

And  ril  clip  my  yellow  locks  an  inch  below  mine  e'e. 
Hey,  nonny,  nonny,  nonny.  21 

He's^  buy  me  a  white  cut,  forth  for  to  ride, 
And  ril  go  seek  him  through  the  world  that  is  so 
wide. 

Hey,  nonny,  nonny,  nonny. 
O  for  a  prick  now,  like  a  nightingale/ 
To  put  my  breast  against !  I  shall  sleep  like  a  top  else.  \^Exit? 


Scene  V.  —  Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

^;?/(?r  GERROLD,y<?z^r  Countrymen  as  morris-dancers,  another 
as  the  Bsivia.n,*  fve  Wenches,  and  a  Taborer. 

Gerrold.  Fie,  fie  ! 
What  tediosity  and  disensanity 
Is  here  among  ye  !     Have  my  rudiments 
Been  labour'd  so  long  with  ye,  milk'd  unto  ye. 
And,  by  a  figure,  even  the  very  plum-broth 
And  marrow  of  my  understanding  laid  upon  ye, 
And  do  you  still  cry  "where,"  and  *'how,"  and  "wherefore"? 

1  He  shall. 

2  Poets  frequently  described  the  nightingale  as  leaning  her  breast  against 
a  thorn  whilst  singing.     So  in  the  Passionate  Pilgrim,  sect.  21; 

"  Everything  did  banish  moan. 
Save  the  nightingale  alone; 
She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 
Lean'd  her  breast  up-till  a  thorn, 
And  there  sung  the  dolefull'st  ditty." 

*  This  scene  is  Fletcher's  ;  "  there  is  some  affectation  of  nautical  language 
(why,  Heaven  only  knows),  and  the  rest  is  mere  incoherent  nonsense," 
—  Hickson. 

*  A  person  dressed  Uke  a  baboon,  introduced  into  a  morris-dance. 


SCENE  v.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  425 

You  most  coarse  frieze  capacities,  ye  jane^  judgments, 

Have  I  said  "  thus  let  be,"  and  "  there  let  be," 

And  "  then  let  be,"  and  no  man  understand  me?  10 

Proh  VeuMf  medius  fidiusf  ye  are  all  dunces  ! 

For  why,  here  stand  I ;  here  the  duke  comes  ;  there  are  you. 

Close  in  the  thicket ;  the  duke  appears,  I  meet  him. 

And  unto  him  I  utter  learned  things. 

And  many  figures ;  he  hears,  and  nods,  and  hums. 

And  then  cries  "  rare  !  "  and  I  go  forward  ;  at  length 

I  fling  my  cap  up ;  mark  there  !  then  do  you, 

As  once  did  Meleager  and  the  boar,^ 

Break  comely  out  before  him,  like  true  lovers, 

Cast  yourselves  in  a  body  decently,  20 

And  sweetly,  by  a  figure,  trace'*  and  turn,  boys  ! 

1st  Countryman.    And    sweetly    we    will    do    it,    master 
Gerrold. 

2d  Countryman.    Draw  up  the  company.      Where's  the 
taborer  ? 

3d  Countryman.  Why,  Timothy  ! 

Taborer.  Here,  my  mad  boys  ;  have  at  ye  ! 

Gerrold.  But  I  say,  where's  their  women  ? 

4th  Countryman.  Here's  Friz  and  Maudlin. 

2d  Countryman.  And  little  Luc'e  with  the  white  legs,  and 
bouncing  Barbary. 

1st  Countryman.  And  freckled  Nell,  that  never  failed  her 
master. 

1  Frieze  is  coarse  woollen  cloth ;  jane  is  twilled  cotton  cloth. 

2  "An  old  Latin  oath,  apparently  short  for  me  dius  Fidius  adiuvet,  may 
the  divine  Fidius  help  me!  \i  fidius  stands  iox  filius,  then  it  means,  may 
the  divine  son  of  Jupiter  help  me !  The  reference,  in  that  case,  is  most 
likely  to  the  god  Hercules."  —  Skeat. 

3  Meleager  slew  the  boar  infesting  Calydon ;  see  Iliad,  ix,  527. 
•*  Follow  your  proper  track ;  referring  to  a  dance. 


426  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  hi. 

Gerrold.  Where  be  your  ribands,  maids  ?    Swim  with  your 
bodies, 
And  carry  it  sweetly  and  deliverly  ^ ; 
And  now  and  then  a  favour^  and  a  frisk  !  30 

Nell.  Let  us  alone,  sir. 

Gerrold.  Where's  the  rest  o'  the  music  ? 

3d  Countryman.  Dispers'd  as  you  commanded. 

Gerrold.  Couple,  then, 

And  see  what's  wanting.     Where's  the  Bavian?  — 
My  friend,  carry  your  tail  without  offence 
Or  scandal  to  the  ladies ;  and  be  sure 
You  tumble  with  audacity  and  manhood ; 
And  when  you  bark,  you  do  it  with  judgment. 

Bavian.  Yes,  sir. 

Gerrold.   Quousque  tandem?^    Here  is  a  woman  wanting  ! 

4th  Countryman.  We  may  go  whistle ;  all  the  fat's  i'  the 
fire! 

Gerrold.  We  have,  40 

As  learned  authors  utter,  wash'd  a  tile  ;  * 
We  have  been  fatuous,  and  labour'd  vainly. 

2d  Countryman.  This  is  that  scornful  piece,^  that  scurvy 
hilding,^ 
That  gave  her  promise  faithfully  she  would 
Be  here.  Cicely  the  sempster's  ^  daughter  ! 
The  next  gloves  that  I  give  her  shall  be  dog-skin ; 
Nay,  an  she  fail  me  once  —  You  can  tell.  Areas, 

1  Nimbly  ;  clever  is  supposed  to  be  derived  from  deliver. 

2  "  Perhaps    a  love-knot    made    of  the   ribands    mentioned."  —  Skeat. 
a.  favours  in  the  modern  cotillon. 

3  How  long  ? 

4  A  Latin  proverb  occurring  in  Terence's  Phormio,  i,  4,  9. 
s  Contemptuously,  "  creature." 

0  A  menial  wretch ;  still  in  use  in  Devonshire.    ^  Old  form  of  sempstress. 


SCENE  v.]  THE   TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  427 

She  swore,  by  wine  and  bread/  she  would  not  break. 

Gerrold.  An  eel  and  woman, 
A  learned  poet  says,  unless  by  the  tail  50 

And  with  thy  teeth  thou  hold,  will  either  fail. 
In  manners  this  was  false  position. 

1st  Countryman.  A   wildfire   take   her !    does    she   flinch 

now? 
jd  Countryman.  What 
Shall  we  determine,  sir? 

Gerrold.  Nothing ; 

Our  business  is  become  a  nulhty. 
Yea,  and  a  woeful  and  a  piteous  nulhty. 

4th  Countryman.  Now,  when  the  credit  of  our  town  lay 
on  it, 
Now  to  be  frampal  ^ ! 
Go  thy  ways  ;  I'll  remember  thee,  I'll  fit  thee  I 

Enter  Gaoler's  Daughter,  and  sings. 

The  George  alow^  came  from  the  south  60 

From  the  coast  of  Barbary-a ; 
And  there  he  met  with  brave  gallants  of  war, 

By  one,  by  two,  by  three-a. 
Well  haiPd,  well  haiVd,  you  jolly  gallants  ! 

And  whither  now  are  you  bound-a  ? 
O,  let  me  have  your  company 

Till  I  come  to  the  Sound-a ! 

1  The  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist. 

2  Peevish;  from  the  "W e.\s\\  ffrotni,  to  fume;  cf.  Merry  Wives,  ii,  2,  94: 

"  She  leads  a  very  frampold  life  with  him." 
8  "  Low  down ;  possibly  referring  to  the  appearance  of  a  ship  on  the  hori- 
zon." —  Skeat, 


428  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  III. 

There  was  three  fools  fell  out  about  an  howlet; 

The  one  said  it  was  an  owl, 

The  other  he  said  nay,  70 

The  third  he  said  it  was  a  hawk, 

And  her  bells  were  cut  away, 

jd  Countryman.  There's  a  dainty  mad  woman,  master, 
Comes  i'  the  nick,^  —  as  mad  as  a  March  hare  ! 
If  we  can  get  her  dance,  we  are  made  again ; 
I  warrant  her  she'll  do  the  rarest  gambols  ! 

1st  Countryman.  A  mad  woman  !     We  are  made,  boys. 

Gerrold.  And  are  you  mad,  good  woman  ? 

Daughter.  I'd  be  sorry,  else ;" 

Give  me  your  hand. 

Gerrold.  Why  ? 

Daughter.  I  can  tell  your  fortune  : 

You  are  a  fool.     Tell  ten.^     I  have  pos'd  him.     Buz  !         80 
Friend,  you  must  eat  no  white  bread ;  if  you  do, 
Your  teeth  will  bleed  extremely.     Shall  we  dance,  ho  ? 
I  know  you  ;  you're  a  tinker  :  sirrah  tinker  — 

Gerrold.  Dii  boni  !  ^ 
A  tinker,  damsel? 

Daughter.  Or  a  conjurer  : 

Raise  me  a  devil  now,  and  let  him  play 
Qui  pas sa  *  o'  the  bells  and  bones  !  ^ 

Gerrold.  Go,  take  her. 

And  fluently  persuade  her  to  a  peace.^ 

1  In  the  nick  of  time. 

2  "  It  was  a  trial  of  idiocy  to  make  a  person  count  his  fingers." —  Weber. 

3  "  Good  Gods !  " 

4  Italian,  "  here  passes."    The  bells  are  those  of  the  morris-dancers ;  the 
bones  were  used  in  rude  music. 

5  To  be  still. 


SCENE  v.]  THE  TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  429 

Et  Opus  exegi,  quod  nee  lovis  ira,  nee  ignis  —  ^ 
Strike  up,  and  lead  her  in. 

2d  Countryman.  Come,  lass,  let's  trip  it !  90 

Daughter.  I'll  lead. 

jd  Countryman.  Do,  do.  [  Wind  horns. 

Gerrold.  Persuasively  and  cunningly ;  away,  boys  ! 
I  hear  the  horns ;  give  me  some  meditation. 
And  mark  your  cue.  —  \_Exeunt  all  but  Gerrold. 

Pallas  inspire  me  1 

Enter  Theseus,  Pirithous,  Hippolyta,  Emilia,  Arcite, 
and  train. 

Theseus.  This  way  the  stag  took. 

Gerrold.  Stay,  and  edify  ! 

Theseus.  What  have  we  here  ? 

Pirithous.  Some  country  sport,  upon  my  life,  sir. 

Theseus.  Well,  sir,  go  forward  ;  we  will  edify.  — 
Ladies,  sit  down  !  we'll  stay  it. 

Gerrold.  Thou  doughty  duke,  all  hail !  —  All  hail,  sweet 
ladies !  loo 

Theseus.  This  is  a  cold  beginning.^ 

Gerrold.  If  you  but  favour,  our  country  pastime  made  is. 
We  are  a  few  of  those  collected  here. 
That  ruder  tongues  distinguish  villager ; 
And  to  say  verity,  and  not  to  fable, 
We  are  a  merry  rout,  or  else  a  rabble. 
Or  company,  or,  by  a  figure,  chorus, 
That  'fore  thy  dignity  will  dance  a  morris.' 
And  I,  that  am  the  rectifier  of  all, 

1  Ovid,  Metamorph.  xv,  871.  ^  K  play  on  the  word  hail. 

8  For  an  account  of  the  morris,  see  Prof.  F.  J.  Child's  Introduction  to 
Ef^llsh  Ballads ^  vol.  5- 


430  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  III. 

By  title  Pedagogus,  that  let  fall  no 

The  birch  upon  the  breeches  of  the  small  ones, 

And  humble  with  a  ferula  ^  the  tall  ones, 

Do  here  present  this  machine,  or  this  frame; 

And,  dainty  duke,  whose  doughty  dismal  fame 

From  Dis  to  Daedalus,  from  post  to  pillar. 

Is  blown  abroad,  help  me,  thy  poor  well-wilier, 

And  with  thy  twinkling  eyes  look  right  and  straight 

Upon  this  mighty  7norr — of  mickle  weight  — 

—  is  now  comes  in,  which  being  glued  together 

Makes  morris,  and  the  cause  that  we  came  hither,  120 

The  body  of  our  sport,  of  no  small  study. 

I  first  appear,  though  rude,  and  raw,  and  muddy, 

To  speak,  before  thy  noble  grace,  this  tenour ;  ^ 

At  whose  great  feet  I  offer  up  my  penner. 

The  next,  the  Lord  of  May  and  Lady  bright. 

The  Chambermaid  and  Servingman,^  by  night 

1  The  schoolmaster's  "  instrument  of  punishment.  It  was  made  of  wood 
and  shaped  like  a  battledore,  but  with  the  bat  much  diminished,  so  as  to  be 
adapted  for  administering  a  severe  pat  on  the  palm  of  the  victim's  hand." 

—  Skeat. 

2  To  this  effect. 

3  "  We  have  here  a  list  of  the  characters  in  the  morris-dance ;  namely, 
the  Lord  of  May,  the  Lady  of  May  (also  called  Queen  of  May,  or  Maid 
Marian),  the  Chambermaid,  the  Servingman,  the  Host,  the  Hostess,  etc. ; 
to  which  should  be  added  the  Bavian  or  Tumbler,  and  the  Clown  or  Jester, 
who  are  seldom  absent  from  such  festivities.  By  putting  together  the 
account  in  this  part  of  the  scene  and  the  preceding  part,  we  may  make  out 
the  list  of  the  twelve  principal  characters,  six  of  each  sex,  with  the  persons 
who  took  the  parts :  Male.  i.  Lord  of  May ;  2.  Servingman ;  3.  Host ;  4. 
Clown ;  5.  Bavian ;  6.  Taborer.  Female.  7.  Lady  of  May ;  8.  Chamber- 
maid; 9.  Hostess;  10.  n.  12.  Dancers.  The  parts  may  be  thus  distributed 
among  the  actors  :  Male.  i.  2.  3.  4.  First,  Second,  Third,  and  Fourth  Coun- 
trymen; 5.  A  fifth  Countryman;  6.  A  man  named  Timothy.  Female.  7. 
Friz;  8.  Gaoler's  Daughter,  taking  the  place  of  Cicely  (for  it  is  clearly  the 
Second  Countryman's  partner  who  failed  to  appear)  ;  9.  Maudlin;  10.  Luce ; 
II.  Barbary;  12,  l^^Wy  —  Skeat. 


SCENE  v.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  43 1 

That  seek  out  silent  hanging ;  then  mine  host 

And  his  fat  spouse,  that  welcomes  to  their  cost 

The  galled  traveller,  and  with  a  beck'ning 

Informs  the  tapster  to  inflame  the  reck'ning ;  130 

Cum  multis  aliis  that  make  a  dance  : 

Say  ay,  and  all  shall  presently  advance. 

Theseus.  Ay,  ay,  by  any  means,  dear  domine  ! 

Pirithous.  Produce. 

Gerrold.  Intrate ,  filii  !     Come  forth,  and  foot  it. 

Enter  the  four  Countrymen,  the  Bavian,  the  Taborer,  the 
five  Wenches  and  the  Gaoler's  Daughter,  ivith  others  of 
both  sexes.  They  dance  a  morris.  After  which  Gerrold 
speaks  the  Epilogue. 

Ladies,  if  we  have  been  merry, 

And  have  pleas'd  ye  with  a  derry. 

And  a  derry,  and  a  down. 

Say  the  schoolmaster's  no  clown.  — 

Duke,  if  we  have  pleas'd  thee  too,  140 

And  have  done  as  good  boys  should  do, 

Give  us  but  a  tree  or  twain 

For  a  Maypole,  and  again, 

Ere  another  year  run  out. 

We'll  make  thee  laugh,  and  all  this  rout. 

Theseus.  Take  twenty,  domine.  —  How  does  my  sweet- 
heart ? 

Hippolyta.  Never  so  pleas'd,  sir. 

Emilia.  'Twas  an  excellent  dance ;  and,  for  a  preface, 
I  never  heard  a  better. 

Theseus.  Schoolmaster,  I  thank  you.  — 

One  see  'em  all  rewarded. 


432  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  ill. 

Pirithous.  And  here's  something  150 

To  paint  your  pole  withal.  [  Gives  money. 

Theseus.  Now  to  our  sports  again  ! 

Gerrold.  May  the  stag  thou  hunt'st  stand  long, 
And  thy  dogs  be  swift  and  strong  ! 
Come,  we  are  all  made  !  —  Dii  Deaeque  077ines  ! 

[  Wind  horns. 
Ye  have  danc'd  rarely,  wenches  !  \_Exeunt} 

Scene  VI.  —  The  same  Part  of  the  Forest  as  in  Scene  III. 

Enter  VM^AUO^from  the  bush. 

Palamon.  About  this  hour  my  cousin  gave  his  faith 
To  visit  me  again,  and  with  him  bring 
Two  swords  and  two  good  armours  ;  if  he  fail. 
He's  neither  man  or  soldier.     When  he  left  me, 
I  did  not  think  a  week  could  have  restor'd 
My  lost  strength  to  me,  I  was  grown  so  low 
And  crest-fallen  with  my  wants ;  I  thank  thee,  Arcite, 
Thou  art  yet  a  fair  foe,  and  I  feel  myself. 
With  this  refreshing,  able  once  again 

To  out-dure  danger.     To  delay  it  longer  10 

Would  make  the  world  think,  when  it  comes  to  hearing. 
That  I  lay  fatting  like  a  swine,  to  fight, 
And  not  a  soldier.     Therefore  this  blest  morning 
Shall  be  the  last,  and  that  sword  he  refuses. 
If  it  but  hold,  I  kill  him  with  ;  'tis  justice  : 
So,  love  and  fortune  for  me  !  —  O,  good  morrow  ! 

1  "  Not  only  imitation,  but  the  imitation  of  a  young  and  inexperienced 
writer."  —  Hickson.  Gerrold  is  "a  personage  who  has  the  pedantry  of 
Shakespeare's  Holofernes,  without  one  solitary  spark  of  his  humor."  — 
Spalding. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  433 

Enter  Arcite,  with  armours  and  swords. 

Arcite.  Good  morrow,  noble  kinsman  ! 

Palamon.  I  have  put  you 

To  too  much  pains,  sir. 

Arcite.  That  too  much,  fair  cousin. 

Is  but  a  debt  to  honour,  and  my  duty. 

Palamon.  Would  you  were  so  in  all,  sir  !     I  could  wish  ye 
As  kind  a  kinsman  as  you  force  me  find  21 

A  beneficial  foe,  that  my  embraces 
Might  thank  ye,  not  my  blows. 

Arcite.  I  shall  think  either. 

Well  done,  a  noble  recompense. 

Palamon.  Then  I  shall  quit  ^  you. 

Arcite.  Defy  me  in  these  fair  terms,  and  you  show 
More  than  a  mistress  to  me ;  no  more  anger. 
As  you  love  any  thing  that's  honourable  ! 
We  were  not  bred  to  talk,  man ;  when  we  are  arm'd, 
And  both  upon  our  guards,  then  let  our  fury. 
Like  meeting  of  two  tides,^  fly  strongly  from  us  !  30 

And  then  to  whom  the  birthright  of  this  beauty 
Truly  pertains — without  upbraidings,  scorns, 
Despisings  of  our  persons,  and  such  poutings, 
Fitter  for  girls  and  schoolboys  —  will  be  seen. 
And  quickly,  yours  or  mine.     Will't  please  your  arm,  sir? 
Or  if  you  feel  yourself  not  fitting  yet. 
And  furnish'd  with  your  old  strength,  I'll  stay,  cousin, 
And  every  day  discourse  you  into  health, 

1  Requite. 

2  Spalding  notes  Fletcher's  "  want  of  distinctness  in  grasping  images,  and 
inability  to  see  fully  either  their  picturesque  or  their  poetical  relations  "  ;  in 
illustration  of  which  he  quotes  this  passage  and  below  :  "  When  I  saw  you 
charge  first,"  etc. 


434  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  hi. 

As  I  am  spar'd  :  your  person  I  am  friends  with, 

And  I  could  wish  I  had  not  said  I  lov'd  her,  40 

Though  I  had  died ;  but,  loving  such  a  lady, 

And  justifying  my  love,  I  must  not  fly  from't. 

Palamon.  Arcite,  thou  art  so  brave  an  enemy, 
That  no  man  but  thy  cousin's  fit  to  kill  thee. 
I'm  well  and  lusty ;    choose  your  arms. 

Arcite.  Choose  you,  sir. 

Palamon.  Wilt  thou  exceed  in  all,  or  dost  thou  do  it 
To  make  me  spare  thee? 

Arcite.  If  you  think  so,  cousin, 

You  are  deceiv'd ;  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
I  will  not  spare  you  ! 

Palamon.  That's  well  said. 

Arcite.  You'll  find  it. 

Palamon.  Then,  as  I  am  an  honest  man,  and  love  50 

With  all  the  justice  of  affection, 
I'll  pay  thee  soundly  !     This  I'll  take. 

Arcite.  That's  mine  then ; 

I'll  arm  you  first.  \_Proceeds  to  arm  Palamon, 

Palamon.  Do.     Pray  thee,  tell  me,  cousin. 

Where  gott'st  thou  this  good  armour? 

Arcite.  'Tis  the  duke's ; 

And,  to  say  true,  I  stole  it.  —  Do  I  pinch  you  ? 

Palamon.  No. 

Arcite.  Is't  not  too  heavy? 

Palamon.  I  have  worn  a  lighter; 

But  I  shall  make  it  serve. 

Arcite.  I'll  buckle't  close. 

Palamon.  By  any  means. 

Arcite.  You  care  not  for  a  grand-guard  ^  ? 

1  A  piece  of  defensive  armour  for  the  breast,  worn  generally  on  horse- 
back. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  435 

Falamoft.  No,  no  ;  we'll  use  no  horses  ;  I  perceive         60 
You'd  fain  be  at  that  fight. 

Arcite.  I  am  indifferent. 

Palamon.  Faith,  so  am  I.     Good  cousin,  thrust  the  buckle 
Through  far  enough. 

Arcite.  I  warrant  you. 

Palamon.  My  casque  now. 

Arcite.  Will  you  fight  bare-arm'd  ? 

Palamon.  We  shall  be  the  nimbler. 

Arcite.  But  use  your  gauntlets  though  :  those  are  o'  the 
least ; 
Prithee  take  mine,  good  cousin. 

Palamon.  Thank  you,  Arcite, 

How  do  I  look?  am  I  fallen  much  away? 

Arcite.  Faith,  very  little ;  love  has  us'd  you  kindly. 

Palamon.  I'll  warrant  thee  I'll  strike  home. 

Arcite.  Do,  and  spare  not ! 

I'll  give  you  cause,  sweet  cousin, 

Palamon  {arf?iing  ARCYit) .         Now  to  you,  sir.  '^o 

Methinks  this  armour's  very  like  that,  Arcite, 
Thou  wor'st  that  day  the  three  kings  fell,  but  lighter. 

Arcite.  That  was  a  very  good  one  ;  and  that  day, 
I  well  remember,  you  outdid  me,  cousin. 
I  never  saw  such  valour ;  when  you  charg'd 
Upon  the  left  wing  of  the  enemy, 
I  spurr'd  hard  to  come  up,  and  under  me 
I  had  a  right  good  horse. 

Palamon.  You  had  indeed ; 

A  bright  bay,  I  remember. 

Arcite.  Yes.     But  all 

Was  vainly  labour'd  in  me  ;  you  outwent  me,  80 

Nor  could  my  wishes  reach  you  :  yet  a  little 


436  THE   TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  III. 

I  did  by  imitation. 

Palamon.  More  by  virtue  ^ ; 

You  are  modest,  cousin. 

Arcite.  When  I  saw  you  charge  first, 

Methought  I  heard  a  dreadful  clap  of  thunder 
Break  from  the  troop. 

Palamon.  But  still  before  that  flew 

The  lightning  of  your  valour.     Stay  a  little  ! 
Is  not  this  piece  too  strait  ^  ? 

Arcite.  No,  no  ;  'tis  well. 

Palamon.  I  would  have  nothing  hurt  thee  but  my  sword ; 
A  bruise  would  be  dishonour. 

Arcite.  Now  I  am  perfect. 

Palamon,  Stand  off  then  ! 

Arcite.  Take  my  sword  ;  I  hold  ^  it  better. 

Palamon.  I  thank  ye,  no  ;  keep  it,  your  life  lies  on  it.     91 
Here's  one,  if  it  but  hold,  I  ask  no  more 
For  all  my  hopes.     My  cause  and  honour  guard  me  ! 

Arcite.  And  me  my  love  !     Is  there  aught  else  to  say? 

\_They  bow  several  7vays  ;  then  advance  and  stand. 

Palamon.  This  only,  and  no  more  :  thou  art  mine  aunt's 
son, 
And  that  blood  we  desire  to  shed  is  mutual ; 
In  me  thine,  and  in  thee  mine  :  my  sword 
Is  in  my  hand,  and,  if  thou  killest  me, 
The  gods  and  I  forgive  thee.     If  there  be 
A  place  prepar'd  for  those  that  sleep  in  honour,  100 

I  wish  his  weary  soul  that  falls  may  win  it. 
Fight  bravely,  cousin ;  give  me  thy  noble  hand. 

Arcite.  Here,  Palamon  ;  this  hand  shall  never  more 
Come  near  thee  with  such  friendship. 

1  Valour.  2  Tight.  3  Esteem. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  437 

Palamon.  I  commend  thee. 

Arcite.  If  I  fall,  curse  me,  and  say  I  was  a  coward ; 
For  none  but  such  dare  die  in  these  just  trials.^ 
Once  more  farewell,  my  cousin  ! 

Palamon.  Farewell,  Arcite  ! 

\_They  Jight.     Horns  within  ;  they  stand. 

Arcite.  Lo,  cousin,  lo  !  our  folly  has  undone  us  ! 

Palamon.  Why? 

Arcite.  This  is  the  duke,  a-hunting  as  I  told  you ;  no 

If  we  be  found,  we  are  wretched.     O,  retire, 
For  honour's  sake  and  safety,  presently 
Into  your  bush  again,  sir  !     We  shall  find 
Too  many  hours  to  die  in.     Gentle  cousin, 
If  you  be  seen,  you  perish  instantly, 
For  breaking  prison  ;  and  I,  if  you  reveal  me, 
For  my  contempt :  then  all  the  world  will  scorn  us. 
And  say  we  had  a  noble  difference. 
But  base  disposers  of  it. 

Palamon.  No,  no,  cousin ; 

I  will  no  more  be  hidden,  nor  put  off  120 

This  great  adventure  to  a  second  trial. 
I  know  your  cunning,  and  I  know  your  cause. 
He  that  faints  now,  shame  take  him  !     Put  thyself 
Upon  thy  present  guard  — 

Arcite.  You  are  not  mad? 

Palamon.  Or  I  will  make  the  advantage  of  this  hour 
Mine  own  ;  and  what  to  come  shall  threaten  me, 
I  fear  less  than  my  fortune.     Know,  weak  cousin, 

1  "  Our  scene  lies  rather  in  the  land  of  knight-errantry  than  of  Athens ; 
our  authors  follow  Chaucer,  and  dress  their  heroes  after  the  manners  of  his 
age,  when  trials  by  the  sword  were  thought  just,  and  the  conquered  always 
supposed  guilty  and  held  infamous."  —  Seward. 


438  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  ill. 

I  love  Emilia ;  and  in  that  I'll  bury 
Thee,  and  all  crosses  else. 

Arcite.  Then  come  what  can  come, 

Thou  shalt  know,  Palamon,  I  dare  as  well  130 

Die,  as  discourse  or  sleep ;  only  this  fears  ^  me, 
The  law  will  have  the  honour  of  our  ends. 
Have  at  thy  Hfe  ! 

Palamon,  Look  to  thine  own  well,  Arcite  ! 

\They  fight  again.     Horns. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Emilia,  Pirithous,  and  train. 

Theseus.  What  ignorant  and  mad-malicious  traitors 
Are  you,  that  'gainst  the  tenour  of  my  laws. 
Are  making  battle  thus,  like  knights  appointed. 
Without  my  leave,  and  officers  of  arms  ? 
By  Castor,  both  shall  die  ! 

Palamon.  Hold  thy  word,  Theseus  ! 

We  are  certainly  both  traitors,  both  despisers 
Of  thee  and  of  thy  goodness  :  I  am  Palamon,  140 

That  cannot  love  thee,  he  that  broke  thy  prison ; 
Think  well  what  that  deserves  !  and  this  is  Arcite ; 
A  bolder  traitor  never  trod  thy  ground, 
A  falser  ne'er  seem'd  friend  :  this  is  the  man 
Was  begg'd  and  banish'd ;  this  is  he  contemns  thee. 
And  what  thou  dar'st  do ;  and  in  this  disguise. 
Against  thine  own  edict,  follows  thy  sister, 
That  fortunate  bright  star,  the  fair  Emilia  — 
Whose  servant,  if  there  be  a  right  in  seeing. 
And  first  bequeathing  of  the  soul  to,  justly  150 

I  am  —  and,  which  is  more,  dares  think  her  his  ! 
This  treachery,  like  a  most  trusty  lover, 

1  Frightens. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  439 

I  call'd  him  now  to  answer.     If  thou  beest, 

As  thou  art  spoken,  great  and  virtuous, 

The  true  decider  of  all  injuries. 

Say,  "  Fight  again  !  "  and  thou  shalt  see  me,  Theseus, 

Do  such  a  justice  thou  thyself  wilt  envy; 

Then  take  my  hfe  !     I'll  woo  thee  to't. 

PiritJious.  O  heaven. 

What  more  than  man  is  this  ! 

Theseus.  I've  sworn. 

Arcite.  We  seek  not 

Thy  breath  of  mercy,  Theseus  !     'Tis  to  me  160 

A  thing  as  soon  ^  to  die  as  thee  to  say  it, 
And  no  more  mov'd.^     Where  this  man  calls  me  traitor, 
Let  me  say  thus  much :  if  in  love  be  treason, 
In  service  of  so  excellent  a  beauty  — 
As  I  love  most,  and  in  that  faith  will  perish. 
As  I  hav^e  brought  my  Hfe  here  to  confirm  it, 
As  I  have  serv'd  her  truest,  worthiest. 
As  I  dare  kill  this  cousin  that  denies  it  — 
So  let  me  be  most  traitor,  and  ye  please  me. 
For  scorning  thy  edict,  duke,  ask  that  lady,  170 

Why  she  is  fair,  and  why  her  eyes  command  me 
Stay  here  to  love  her?  and  if  she  say  traitor, 
I  am  a  villain  fit  to  lie  unburied. 

Palamon.  Thou  shalt  have  pity  of  us  both,  O  Theseus, 
If  unto  neither  thou  show  mercy ;  stop, 
As  thou  art  just,  thy  noble  ear  against  us ; 
As  thou  art  valiant,  for  thy  cousin's^  soul, 

1  Easy. 

2  "  And  I  am  no  more  moved  than  thou  wouldst  be  in  giving  the  order." 
—  Skeat. 

8  Hercules. 


440  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  III. 

Whose  twelve  strong  labours  crown  his  memory, 

Let's  die  together,  at  one  instant,  duke  ! 

Only  a  little  let  him  fall  before  me,  180 

That  I  may  tell  my  soul  he  shall  not  have  her. 

Theseus.  I  grant  your  wish ;  for,  to  say  true,  your  cousin 
Has  ten  times  more  offended,  for  I  gave  him 
More  mercy  than  you  found,  sir,  your  offences 
Being  no  more  than  his.  —  None  here  speak  for  'em  ! 
For  ere  the  sun  set,  both  shall  sleep  for  ever. 

Hippolyta.  Alas,  the  pity  !  now  or  never,  sister. 
Speak,  not  to  be  denied ;  that  face  of  yours 
Will  bear  the  curses  else  of  after  ages 
For  these  lost  cousins. 

Emilia.  In  my  face,  dear  sister,  190 

I  find  no  anger  to  'em,  nor  no  ruin ; 
The  misadventure  of  their  own  eyes  kill  'em  : 
Yet  that  I  will  be  woman  and  have  pity. 
My  knees  shall  grow  to  the  ground  but  I'll  get  mercy. 
Help  me,  dear  sister  !  in  a  deed  so  virtuous 
The  powers  of  all  women  will  be  with  us. —  ♦' 

Most  royal  brother  — 

Hippolyta.  Sir,  by  our  tie  of  marriage  — 

Emilia.  By  your  own  spotless  honour  — 

Hippolyta.  By  that  faith. 

That  fair  hand,  and  that  honest  heart  you  gave  me  — 

Emilia.  By  that  you  would  have  pity  in  another,  200 

By  your  own  virtues  infinite  — 

Hippolyta.  By  valour. 

By  all  the  chaste  nights  I  have  ever  pleas'd  you  — 

Theseus.  These  are  strange  conjurings  ! 

Pirithous.  Nay,  then,  I'll  in  too  !  — 

By  all  our  friendship,  sir,  by  all  our  dangers. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  44I 

By  all  you  love  most,  —  wars,  and  this  sweet  lady — 

Emilia.  By  that  you  would  have  trembled  to  deny 
A  blushing  maid  — 

Hippo lyta.  By  your  own  eyes,  by  strength, 

In  which  you  swore  I  went  beyond  all  women. 
Almost  all  men,  and  yet  I  yielded,  Theseus  — 

Pirithous.  To  crown  all  this,  by  your  most  noble  soul,  210 
Which  cannot  want  due  mercy,  I  beg  first  ! 

Hippolyta.  Next  hear  my  prayers  ! 

Emilia.  Last,  let  me  entreat,  sir  ! 

Pirithous.  For  mercy  ! 

Hippolyta.  Mercy ! 

Emilia.  Mercy  on  these  princes  ! 

Theseus.  Ye  make  my  faith  reel ;  say  I  felt 
Compassion  to  'em  both,  how  would  you  place  it  ? 

Emilia.  Upon  their  lives  ;  but  with  their  banishments. 

Theseus.  You  are  a  right  ^  woman,  sister  !  you  have  pity. 
But  want  the  understanding  where  to  use  it. 
If  you  desire  their  lives,  invent  a  way 

Safer  "than  banishment.     Can  these  two  live,  220 

And  have  the  agony  of  love  about  'em. 
And  not  kill  one  another?     Every  day 
They'd  fight  about  you,  hourly  bring  your  honour 
In  public  question  with  their  swords.     Be  wise  then. 
And  here  forget  'em  ;  it  concerns  your  credit, 
And  my  oath  equally :   I  have  said,  they  die  ! 
Better  they  fall  by  the  law  than  one  another. 
Bow  ^  not  my  honour. 

Emilia.  O  my  noble  brother, 

That  oath  was  rashly  made,  and  in  your  anger ; 
Your  reason  will  not  hold  it :  if  such  vows  230 

1  Very.  ^  Abase  not. 


442  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  III. 

Stand  for  express  will,  all  the  world  must  perish. 
Beside,  I  have  another  oath  'gainst  yours, 
Of  more  authority,  I'm  sure  more  love  ; 
Not  made  in  passion  neither,  but  good  heed. 

Theseus.  What  is  it,  sister? 

Pirithous.  Urge  it  home,  brave  lady  ! 

Emilia.  That  you  would  ne'er  deny  me  anything 
Fit  for  my  modest  suit  and  your  free  granting. 
I  tie  you  to  your  word  now ;  if  ye  fail  in't, 
Think  how  you  maim  your  honour ; 

For  now  I  am  set  a-begging,  sir,  I  am  deaf  240 

To  all  but  your  compassion.     How  their  lives 
Might  breed  the  ruin  of  my  name's  opinion  !  ^ 
Shall  any  thing  that  loves  me  perish  for  me  ? 
That  were  a  cruel  wisdom  ;  do  men  proin  ^ 
The  straight  young  boughs  that  blush  with  thousand  blos- 
soms, 
Because  they  may  be  rotten  ?     O  duke  Theseus, 
The  goodly  mothers  that  have  groan'd  for  these, 
And  all  the  longing  maids  that  ever  lov'd. 
If  your  vow  stand,  shall  curse  me  and  my  beauty. 
And,  in  their  funeral  songs  for  these  two  cousins,  250 

Despise  my  cruelty  and  cry  woe  worth  me/ 
Till  I  am  nothing  but  the  scorn  of  women. 
For  heaven's  sake  save  their  lives,  and  banish  'em  ! 

Theseus.  On  what  conditions  ? 

Emilia.  Swear  'em  never  more 

To  make  me  their  contention,  or  to  know  me, 
To  tread  upon  thy  dukedom,  and  to  be. 
Wherever  they  shall  travel,  ever  strangers 
To  one  another. 

1  My  reputation.  2  Prune.  ^  Woe  be  to  me. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  443 

Palamon.  I'll  be  cut  a-pieces 
Before  I  take  this  oath  !     Forget  I  love  her? 

0  all  ye  gods,  despise  me  then  !     Thy  banishment  260 

1  not  mislike,  so  we  may  fairly  carry 

Our  swords  and  cause  along ;  else  never  trifle, 
But  take  our  lives,  duke  !     I  must  love,  and  will ; 
And  for  that  love  must  and  dare  kill  this  cousin. 
On  any  piece  the  earth  has. 

Theseus.  Will  you,  Arcite, 

Take  these  conditions? 

Palamon.  He's  a  villain,  then  ! 

Pirithous.  These  are  men  ! 

Arcite.  No,  never,  duke ;  'tis  worse  to  me  than  begging, 
To  take  my  life  so  basely.     Though  I  think 
I  never  shall  enjoy  her,  yet  I'll  preserve  270 

The  honour  of  affection,  and  die  for  her. 
Make  death  a  devil.^ 

Theseus.  What  may  be  done  ?  for  now  I  feel  compassion. 

Pirithous.  Let  it  not  fall  again,  sir  ! 

Theseus.  Say,  Emilia, 

If  one  of  them  were  dead,  as  one  must,  are  you 
Content  to  take  the  other  to  your  husband  ? 
They  cannot  both  enjoy  you.     They  are  princes 
As  goodly  as  your  own  eyes,  and  as  noble 
As  ever  fame  yet  spoke  of :  look  upon  'em, 
And  if  you  can  love,  end  this  difference  ;  280 

I  give  consent.  —  Are  you  content,  too,  princes  ? 

Both.  With  all  our  souls. 

Theseus.  He  that  she  refuses 

Must  die  then. 

Both.  Any  death  thou  canst  invent,  duke. 

1  "  Though  you  should  make  death  as  formidable  as  a  devil."  —  Littledale. 


444  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  III. 

Palamon.  If  I  fall  from  that  mouth,  I  fall  with  favour, 
And  lovers  yet  unborn  shall  bless  my  ashes. 

Arcite.  If  she  refuse  me,  yet  my  grave  will  wed  me. 
And  soldiers  sing  my  epitaph. 

Theseus,  Make  choice  then. 

Emilia.  I  cannot,  sir ;  they  are  both  too  excellent : 
For  me,  a  hair  shall  never  fall  of  these  men. 

Hippolyta.  What  will  become  of  'em  ? 

Theseus.  Thus  I  ordain  it : 

And,  by  mine  honour,  once  again  it  stands,  291 

Or  both  shall  die  !  —  You  shall  both  to  your  country ; 
And  each,  within  this  month,  accompanied 
With  three  fair  knights,  appear  again  in  this  place, 
In  which  I'll  plant  a  pyramid  :  and  whether. 
Before  us  that  are  here,  can  force  his  cousin 
By  fair  and  knightly  strength  to  touch  the  pillar, 
He  shall  enjoy  her ;  the  other  lose  his  head. 
And  all  his  friends ;  ^  nor  shall  he  grudge  to  fall. 
Nor  think  he  dies  with  interest  in  this  lady.  300 

Will  this  content  ye  ? 

Palamon.  Yes.  —  Here,  cousin  Arcite, 

I  am  friends  again  till  that  hour. 

1  "  Some  readers  have  expressed  surprise  at  the  apparently  strange  doom 
of  Theseus,  in  decreeing  death  not  only  to  the  principal,  but  to  '  all  his 
friends,'  if  worsted  in  the  combat.  Chaucer  does  not,  it  is  true,  go  so  far  as 
this ;  but  it  was  quite  in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  the  age  even  in 
Fletcher's  time.  Seward's  note  on  the  subject  is  much  to  the  purpose : 
'  As  to  the  probability  of  their  procuring  each  three  seconds  upon  such  odd 
terms,  it  may  shock  us  to  suppose  any  such  gallant  idiots ;  but  even  so  low 
as  our  authors'  ageMt  was  reckoned  cowardice  to  refuse  any  man,  even  a 
stranger,  to  be  a  second  in  almost  any  duel  whatever,  of  which  there  is  a 
most  inimitable  burlesque  in  The  Little  French  Lawyer.  Mankind  were 
mad  after  knight-errantry ;  and  the  reader  must  catch  a  little  of  the  spirit 
himself,  or  he'll  lose  a  great  part  of  the  beauties  of  this  play ;  he  must  kindle 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  445 

Arcite.  I  embrace  ye. 

Theseus.  Are  you  content,  sister? 

Emilia.  Yes  ;  I  must,  sir, 

Else  both  miscarry. 

Theseus.  Come,  shake  hands  again  then ; 

And  take  heed,  as  you  are  gentlemen,  this  quarrel 
Sleep  till  the  hour  prefix'd,  and  hold  your  course. 

Palamon.  We  dare  not  fail  thee,  Theseus. 

Theseus.  Come,  I'll  give  ye 

Now  usage  like  to  princes  and  to  friends. 
When  ye  return,  who  wins,  I'll  settle  here ; 
Who  loses,  yet  I'll  weep  upon  his  bier.  \^Exeunt} 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  — Athens.     A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Gaoler  and  First  Friend. 

Gaoler.  Hear  you  no  more  ?    Was  nothing  said  of  me 
Concerning  the  escape  of  Palamon  ? 
Good  sir,  remember  ! 

1st  Friend.  Nothing  that  I  heard  ; 

with  the  flames  of  military  glory,  think  life  a  small  stake  to  hazard  in  such  a 
combat,  and  death  desirable  to  the  conquered  as  a  refuge  from  shame.'  In 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  play  of  The  Lover's  Progress,  ii,  3,  the  seconds 
fight  as  well  as  the  principals.  Perhaps  the  most  striking  instance  is 
afforded  by  the  ferocious  duel  fought  in  Kensington  Gardens  on  the  15th 
of  November,  1712;  in  which  not  only  the  principals,  Lord  Mohun  and 
the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  were  both  killed,  but  the  seconds  fought  with  fierce 
hatred,  though  interrupted  before  either  of  them  was  slain."  — Skeat. 

1  "  This  scene  is  a  spirited  and  excellent  one ;  but  its  tone  is  Fletcher's, 
not  Shakespeare's."  —  Spalding. 


446  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  IV. 

For  I  came  home  before  the  business 

Was  fully  ended  :  yet  I  might  perceive, 

Ere  I  departed,  a  great  likeHhood 

Of  both  their  pardons  j  for  Hippolyta 

And  fair-eyed  Emily  upon  their  knees 

Begg'd  with  such  handsome  pity,  that  the  duke 

Methought  stood  staggering  whether  he  should  follow         lo 

His  rash  oath  or  the  sweet  compassion 

Of  those  two  ladies  ;  and  to  second  them. 

That  truly  noble  prince  Pirithous, 

Half  his  own  heart,  set  in  too,  that  I  hope 

All  shall  be  well :  neither      ard  I  one  question 

Of  your  name  or  his  scape. 

Gaoler.  Pray  heaven,  it  hold  so  ! 

Enter  Second  Friend. 

2d  Friend.  Be  of  good  comfort,  man  !     I  bring  you  news. 
Good  news. 

Gaoler.        They're  welcome. 

2d  Friend.  Palamon  has  clear'd  you 

And  got  your  pardon,  and  discover'd  how 
And  by  whose  means  he  scap'd,  which  was  your  daughter's. 
Whose  pardon  is  procur'd  too  ;  and  the  prisoner  —  21 

Not  to  be  held  ungrateful  to  her  goodness  — 
Has  given  a  sum  of  money  to  her  marriage, 
A  large  one,  I'll  assure  you. 

Gaoler.  Ye're  a  good  man 

And  ever  bring  good  news. 

1st  Friend.  How  was  it  ended  ? 

2d  Friend.  Why,  as  it  should  be  ;  they  that  never  begg'd 
But  they  prevail'd  had  their  suits  fairly  granted ; 
The  prisoners  have  their  lives. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN.  447 

1st  Friend.  I  knew't  would  be  so. 

2d  Friend.  But  there  be  new  conditions,  which  you'll  hear  of 
At  better  time. 

Gaoler.  I  hope  they  are  good. 

2d  Friend.  They're  honourable  -,       30 

How  good  they'll  prove,  I  know  not. 

1st  Friend.  'Twill  be  known. 

Enter  Wooer. 

Wooer.  Alas,  sir,  where's  your  daughter  ? 

Gaoler.  Why  do  you  ask? 

Wooer.  O,  sir,  when  did  you  see  her? 

2d  Friend.  How  he  looks  ! 

Gaoler.  This  morning. 

Wooer.  Was  she  well  ?  was  she  in  health,  sir  ? 

Where  did  she  sleep?  ^ 

1st  Friend.  These  are  strange  questions. 

Gaoler.  I  do  not  think  she  was  very  well ;  for,  now 
You  make  me  mind  her,  but  this  very  day 
I  ask'd  her  questions,  and  she  answer'd  me 
So  far  from  what  she  was,  so  childishly, 
So  sillily,  as  if  she  were  a  fool,  49 

An  innocent  ^ ;  and  I  was  very  angry. 
But  what  of  her,  sir  ? 

Wooer.  Nothing  but  my  pity ; 

But  you  must  know  it,  and  as  good  by  me 
As  by  another  that  less  loves  her. 

Gaoler.  Well,  sir? 

J st  Friend.  Not  right? 

2d  Friend.  Not  well? 

Wooer.  No,  sir,  not  well  \ 

'Tis  too  true,  she  is  mad. 

1  Idiot. 


448  THE  TWO  NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [act  IV. 

1st  Friend.  It  cannot  be. 

Wooer.  Believe,  you'll  find  it  so. 
*    Gaoler.  I  half  suspected 

What  you  have  told  me ;  the  gods  comfort  her  ! 
Either  this  was  her  love  to  Palamon, 

Or  fear  of  my  miscarrying  on  his  scape,  50 

Or  both. 

Wooer.  'Tis  likely. 

Gaoler.  But  why  all  this  haste,  sir  ? 

Wooer.  I'll  tell  you  quickly.     As  I  late  was  angling 
In  the  great  lake  that  lies  behind  the  palace, 
From  the  far  shore,  thick-set  with  reeds  and  sedges, 
As  patiently  I  was  attending  sport, 
I  heard  a  voice,  a  shrill  one,  and  attentive 
I  gave  my  ear ;  when  I  might  well  perceive 
'Twas  one  that  sung,  and,  by  the  smallness  of  it, 
A  boy  or  woman.^     I  then  left  my  angle 
To  his  own  skill,  came  near,  but  yet  perceiv'd  not  60 

Who  made  the  sound,  the  rushes  and  the  reeds 
Had  so  encompass'd  it.     I  laid  me  down 
And  Hsten'd  to  the  words  she  sung  ;  for  then. 
Through  a  small  glade  cut  by  the  fishermen, 
I  saw  it  was  your  daughter. 

Gaoler.  Pray  go  on,  sir  ! 

Wooer.  She  sung  much,  but  no  sense ;  only  I  heard  her 
Repeat  this  often  :  "  Palamon  is  gone, 
Is  gone  to  the  wood  to  gather  mulberries ; 
I'll  find  him  out  to-morrow." 

1st  Friend.  Pretty  soul ! 

Wooer.  "  His  shackles  will  betray  him,  he'll  be  taken ;    70 
And  what  shall  I  do  then?     I'll  bring  a  bevy,^ 

1  Cf.  Hamlet,  iv,  7.        2  Company,  from  the  Italian,  beva,  drinking-party. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  449 

A  hundred  black-eyed  maids  that  love  as  I  do, 

With  chaplets  on  their  heads  of  daffodiUies/ 

With  cherry  lips,  and  cheeks  of  damask  roses, 

And  all  we'll  dance  an  antic  'fore  the  duke. 

And  beg  his  pardon."     Then  she  talk'd  of  you,  sir ; 

That  you  must  lose  your  head  to-morrow  morning, 

And  she  must  gather  flowers  to  bury  you. 

And  see  the  house  made  handsome.     Then  she  sung 

Nothing  but  "  Willow,  willow,  willow  "  ;  ^  and  between        80 

Ever  was,  "  Palamon,  fair  Palamon  !  " 

And  "  Palamon  was  a  tall  young  man  !  "     The  place 

Was  knee-deep  where  she  sat ;  her  careless  tresses 

A  wreath  of  bulrush  rounded ;  about  her  stuck 

Thousand  fresh  water-flowers  of  several  colours ; 

That  methought  she  appear'd  like  the  fair  nymph 

That  feeds  the  lake  with  waters,  or  as  Iris 

Newly  dropt  down  from  heaven.     Rings  she  made 

Of  rushes  that  grew  by,^  and  to  'em  spoke 

The  prettiest  posies,^  —  "Thus  our  true  love's  tied,"  90 

"  This  you  may  loose,  not  me,"  and  many  a  one ; 

And  then  she  wept,  and  sung  again,  and  sigh'd, 

And  with  the  same  breath  smil'd  and  kiss'd  her  hand. 

2d  Friend.  Alas,  what  pity  'tis  ! 

Wooer.  I  made  in  to  her ; 

She  saw  me,  and  straight  sought  the  flood ;  I  sav'd  her, 
And  set  her  safe  to  land ;  when  presently 
She  slipt  away,  and  to  the  city  made 
With  such  a  cry  and  swiftness  that,  believe  me, 
She  left  me  far  behind  her.     Three  or  four 
I  saw  from  far  off  cross  her,  one  of  'em  100 

1  Daffodils,  corrupted  from  asphodel.  2  cf.  Othello,  iv,  3. 

8  Peasants  made  rush  rings  in  celebrating  mock  marriages.       ^  Mottoes. 


450  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  IV. 

I  knew  to  be  your  brother ;  where  she  stay'd, 

And  fell,  scarce  to  be  got  away  :  I  left  them  with  her. 

And  hither  came  to  tell  you.     Here  they  are  ! 

Enter  Gaoler's  Brother,  Daughter,  and  others. 

Daughter  (sings) .  May  you  never  more  enjoy  the  lights 
etc. 
Is  not  this  a  fine  song  ? 

Brother.  O,  a  very  fine  one  ! 

Daughter.  I  can  sing  twenty  more. 

Brother.  I  think  you  can. 

Daughter.  Yes,  truly  can  I ;  I  can  sing  "  The  Broom," 
And  "  Bonny  Robin."  ^     Are  not  you  a  tailor? 

Brother.  Yes. 

Daughter.     Where's  my  wedding-gown  ? 

Brother.  I'll  bring  it  to-morrow. 

Daughter.  Do,  very  rarely^;  I  must  be  abroad  else,      no 
To  call  the  maids,  and  pay  the  minstrels. 

(Sings)  O  fair,  O  sweet,  etc. 

Brother.  You  must  even  take  it  patiently. 

Gaoler.  Tis  true. 

Daughter.  Good  even,  good  men  !     Pray  did   you  ever 
hear 
Of  one  young  Palamon  ? 

Gaoler.  Yes,  wench,  we  know  him. 

Daughter.  Is't  not  a  fine  young  gentleman? 

Gaoler.  'Tis  love  ! 

Brother.  By  no  means  cross  her ;  she  is  then  distemper'd 
Far  worse  than  now  she  shows. 

1st  Friend.  Yes,  he's  a  fine  man. 

Daughter.  O,  is  he  so  ?    You  have  a  sister  ? 

1  Popular  old  songs.  2  Early. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN.  45 1 

jst  Friend.  Yes. 

Daughter.  But  she  shall  never  have  him,  tell  her  so,       120 
For  a  trick  that  I  know ;  y'  had  best  look  to  her. 
For  if  she  see  him  once,  she's  gone,  she's  done 
And  undone  in  an  hour.     All  the  young  maids 
Of  our  town  are  in  love  with  him ;  but  1  laugh  at  'em, 
And  let  'em  all  alone  :  is't  not  a  wise  course  ? 

1st  Friend.  Yes. 

Daughter.  They  come  from  all  parts  of  the  dukedom  to 
him  ; 
I'll  warrant  ye  — 

Gaoler.  She's  lost, 

Past  all  cure  ! 

Brother.         Heaven  forbid,  man  ! 

Daughter.  Come  hither ;  you're  a  wise  man. 

1st  Friend.  Does  she  know  him?     130 

2d  Friend.  No  \  would  she  did  ! 

Daughter.  You're  master  of  a  ship  ? 

Gaoler.  Yes. 

Daughter.  Where's  your  compass  ? 

Gaoler.  Here. 

Daughter.  Set  it  to  the  north; 

And  now  direct  your  course  to  the  wood,  where  Palamon 
Lies  longing  for  me  ;  for  the  tackling 
Let  me  alone  :  come,  weigh,  my  hearts,  cheerly  !  ^ 

AIL  Owgh,  owgh,  owgh  !  'tis  up,  the  wind  is  fair ; 
Top  the  bowling  ;  ^  out  with  the  mainsail ! 
Where's  your  whistle,  master? 

Brother.  Let's  get  her  in. 

Gaoler.  Up  to  the  top,  boy  ! 

Brother.  Where's  the  pilot? 

1  Weigh  anchor  cheerily.  2  Tighten  the  bowUne. 


452  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  IV. 

1st  Friend.  Here. 

Daughter.  What  kenn'st  ^  thou? 

2d  Friend.  A  fair  wood.  140 

Daughter.  Bear  for  it,  master ;  tack  about ! 
(Sings)   When  Cynthia  with  her  borrowed  light,  etc. 

\Exeunt? 


Scene  II.  —  Athens.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Emilia,  with  tivo  pictures. 

Emilia.  Yet  I  may  bind  those  wounds  up,  that  must  open 
And  bleed  to  death  for  my  sakfe  else.     I'll  choose, 
And  end  their  strife ;  two  such  young  handsome  men 
Shall  never  fall  for  me  :  their  weeping  mothers, 
Following  the  dead-cold  ashes  of  their  sons, 
Shall  never  curse  my  cruelty.     Good  heaven, 
What  a  sweet  face  has  Arcite  !     If  wise  Nature, 
With  all  her  best  endowments,  all  those  beauties 
She  sows  into  the  births  of  noble  bodies, 
Were  here  a  mortal  woman,  and  had  in  her  10 

The  coy  denials  of  young  maids,  yet  doubtless 
She  would  run  mad  for  this  man.     What  an  eye, 
Of  what  a  fiery  sparkle  and  quick  sweetness, 

1  Descry. 

2  "  The  fourth  act  may  safely  be  pronounced  wholly  Fletcher's.  All  of  it, 
except  one  scene,  is  taken  up  by  the  episodical  adventures  of  the  Gaoler's 
Daughter ;  and,  while  much  of  it  is  poetical,  it  wants  the  force  and  origin- 
ality, and,  indeed,  all  the  prominent  features  of  Shakespeare's  manner, 
either  of  thought,  illustration,  or  expression."  —  Spalding.  "  The  description 
in  this  scene  has  a  certain  resemblance  to  the  circumstances  of  the  death  of 
Ophelia,  and  was  probably  written  with  that  scene  in  view.  It  has  no  refer- 
ence whatever  to  the  character  of  the  Gaoler's  Daughter,  and  it  is  the  only 
circumstance  in  the  whole  play  common  to  her  and  to  Ophelia."  —  Hickson, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  453 

Has  this  young  prince  !  here  Love  himself  sits  smiling ; 

Just  such  another  wanton  Ganymede  ^ 

Set  Jove  afire  with,  and  enforc'd  the  god 

Snatch  up  the  goodly  boy,  and  set  him  by  him, 

A  shining  constellation.     What  a  brow, 

Of  what  a  spacious  majesty,  he  carries, 

Arch'd  like  the  great-eyed  Juno's,  but  far  sweeter,  20 

Smoother  than  Pelops'  shoulder  !  ^  Fame  and  Honour, 

Methinks,  from  hence,  as  from  a  promontory 

Pointed  in  heaven,  should  clap  their  wings,  and  sing 

To  all  the  under-world  the  loves  and  fights 

Of  gods  and  such  men  near  'em.     Palamon 

Is  but  his  foil ;  to  him,  a  mere  dull  shadow ; 

He's  swarth  and  meagre,  of  an  eye  as  heavy 

As  if  he  had  lost  his  mother ;  a  still  temper, 

No  stirring  in  him,  no  alacrity ; 

Of  all  this  sprightly  sharpness,  not  a  smile.  —  30 

Yet  these  that  we  count  errors,  may  become  him ; 

Narcissus  was  a  sad  boy,  but  a  heavenly. 

O,  who  can  find  the  bent  of  woman's  fancy? 

I  am  a  fool,  my  reason  is  lost  in  me ; 

I  have  no  choice,  and  I  have  Hed  so  lewdly 

1  The  constellation  Aquarius  was  identified  with  Ganymede. 

2  "  Tantalus,  the  favourite  of  the  gods,  once  invited  them  to  a  repast,  and 
on  that  occasion  killed  his  own  son  Pelops,  and  having  boiled  him,  set  the 
flesh  before  them  that  they  might  eat  it.  But  the  immortal  gods,  knowing 
what  it  was,  did  not  touch  it ;  Demeter  alone,  being  absorbed  by  grief  for 
her  lost  daughter,  consumed  the  shoulder  of  Pelops.  Hereupon  the  gods 
ordered  Hermes  to  put  the  limbs  of  Pelops  into  a  cauldron  and 
thereby  restore  him  to  life.  When  the  process  was  over,  Clotho  took 
him  out  of  the  cauldron,  and  as  the  shoulder  consumed  by  Demeter 
was  wanting,  the  goddess  supplied  its  place  by  one  made  of  ivory;  his  de- 
scendants (the  Pelopidse)  as  a  mark  of  their  origin,  were  believed  to  have 
one  shoulder  aj  white  as  ivory''  —  Smith's  Classical  Diet. 


454  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  iv. 

That  women  ought  to  beat  me.  —  On  my  knees 

I  ask  thy  pardon,  Palamon  !     Thou  art  alone, 

And  only  beautiful ;  and  these  the  eyes, 

These  the  bright  lamps  of  beauty,  that  command 

And  threaten  Love,  and  what  young  maid  dare  cross  'em? 

What  a  bold  gravity,  and  yet  inviting,  41 

Has  this  brown  manly  face  !     O  Love,  this  only 

From  this  hour  is  complexion.     Lie  there,  Arcite  ! 

Thou  art  a  changeling  to  him,  a  mere  gipsy. 

And  this  the  noble  body.       I  am  sotted. 

Utterly  lost !  my  virgin's  faith  has  fled  me  ! 

For  if  my  brother  but  e'en  now  had  ask'd  me 

Whether  ^  I  lov'd,  I  had  run  mad  for  Arcite ; 

Now  if  my  sister,  more  for  Palamon. — 

Stand  both  together  !  —  Now  come,  ask  me,  brother ;  —    50 

Alas,  I  know  not !  —  Ask  me  now,  sweet  sister ;  — 

I  may  go  look  !  —  What  a  mere  child  is  fancy, 

That,  having  two  fair  gawds  of  equal  sweetness. 

Cannot  distinguish,  but  must  cry  for  both  !  — 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 
How  now,  sir? 

Gentleman.      From  the  noble  duke  your  brother. 
Madam,  I  bring  you  news  :  the  knights  are  come  ! 

Emilia,  To  end  the  quarrel? 

Gentleman.  Yes. 

Emilia.  Would  I  might  end  first .' 

What  sins  have  I  committed,  chaste  Diana, 
That  my  unspotted  youth  must  now  be  soil'd 
With  blood  of  princes  ?  and  my  chastity  60 

Be  made  the  altar,  where  the  lives  of  lovers  — 

1  Which  of  the  two. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  455 

Two  greater  and  two  better  never  yet 
Made  mothers  joy — must  be  the  sacrifice 
To  my  unhappy  beauty? 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Pirithous,  and  Attendants. 

Theseus.  Bring  'em  in 

Quickly,  by  any  means  !     I  long  to  see  'em.  — 
Your  two  contending  lovers  are  return'd, 
And  with  them  their  fair  knights ;  now,  my  fair  sister, 
You  must  love  one  of  them. 

Emilia.  I  had  rather  both. 

So  neither  for  my  sake  should  fall  untimely. 

Theseus.  Who  sg,w  'em? 

Pirithous.  I  awhile. 

Gentleman.  And  I.  70 

Enter  Messenger. 

Theseus.  From  whence  come  you,  sir? 

Messenger.  From  the  knights. 

Theseus.  Pray  speak, 

You  that  have  seen  them,  what  they  are. 

Messenger.  I  will,  sir. 

And  truly  what  I  think.     Six  braver  spirits 
Than  these  they  have  brought — if  we  judge  by  the  outside  — 
I  never  saw  nor  read  of.     He  that  stands 
In  the  first  place  with  Arcite,  by  his  seeming 
Should  be  a  stout  man,  by  his  face  a  prince,  — 
His  very  looks  so  say  him  ;  his  complexion 
Nearer  a  brown  than  black  ;  stern,  and  yet  noble, 
Which  shows  him  hardy,  fearless,  proud  of  dangers ;  80 

The  circles  of  his  eyes  show  fire  within  him, 
And  as  a  heated  lion,  so  he  looks ; 


456  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  iv. 

His  hair  hangs  long  behind  him,  black  and  shining 
Like  ravens'  wings ;  his  shoulders  broad  and  strong ; 
Arm'd  long  and  round  :  ^  and  on  his  thigh  a  sword 
Hung  by  a  curious  baldrick,^  when  he  frowns 
To  seal  his  will  with  ;  better,  o'  my  conscience. 
Was  never  soldier's  friend. 

Theseus,  Thou  hast  well  describ'd  him. 

Pirithous.  Yet  a  great  deal  short, 

MethinkS,  of  him  that's  first  with  Palamon.  90 

Theseus.  Pray  speak  him,  friend. 

Pirithous.  I  guess  he  is  a  prince  too. 

And,  if  it  may  be,  greater ;  for  his  show 
Has  all  the  ornament  of  honour  in't. 
He's  somewhat  bigger  than  the  knight  he  spoke  of. 
But  of  a  face  far  sweeter ;  his  complexion 
Is,  as  a  ripe  grape,  ruddy ;  he  has  felt, 
Without  doubt,  what  he  fights  for,  and  so  apter 
To  make  this  cause  his  own ;  in's  face  appears 
All  the  fair  hopes  of  what  he  undertakes ; 
And  when  he's  angry,  then  a  settled  valour,  100 

Not  tainted  with  extremes,  runs  through  his  body, 
And  guides  his  arm  to  brave  things ;  fear  he  cannot, 
He  shows  no  such  soft  temper.     His  head's  yellow, 
Hard-hair'd,  and  curl'd,  thick  twin'd,  like  ivy-tods,^ 
Not  to  undo  *  with  thunder ;  in  his  face 
The  livery  of  the  warlike  maid  appears, 
Pure  red  and  white,  for  yet  no  beard  has  blest  him ; 
And  in  his  rolling  eyes  sits  Victory, 
As  if  she  ever  meant  to  crown  his  valour ; 

1  Arms  long  and  round.  ^  A  belt. 

8  Thick  clusters  of  ivy ;  so  Spenser,  Shepherd's  Kalendar,  March,  i,  67. 

4  Not  to  be  destroyed  by  thunder. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  457 

His  nose  stands  high,  a  character  of  honour ;  no 

His  red  lips,  after  fights,  are  fit  for  ladies.  — 

Ejnilia.  Must  these  men  die  too  ? 

Pirithous.  When  he  speaks,  his  tongue 

Sounds  like  a  trumpet ;  all  his  lineaments 
Are  as  a  man  would  wish  'em,  strong  and  clean ; 
He  wears  a  well  steel'd  axe,  the  staff  of  gold ; 
His  age  some  five-and-twenty. 

Messenger.  There's  another, 

A  little  man,  but  of  a  tough  soul,  seeming 
As  great  as  any ;  fairer  promises 
In  such  a  body  yet  I  never  look'd  on. 

Pirithous.  O,  he  that's  freckled-fac'd  ? 

Messenger.  The  same,  my  lord  ;     120 

Are  they  not  sweet  ones? 

Pirithous.  Yes,  they're  well. 

Messenger.  Methinks, 

Being  so  few  and  well  dispos'd,  they  show 
Great  and  fine  art  in  nature.^     He's  white-hair'd. 
Not  wanton-white,  but  such  a  manly  colour 
Next  to  an  auburn ;  tough,  and  nimble-set, 
Which  shews  an  active  soul ;  his  arms  are  brawny, 
Lin'd  with  strong  sinews ;  to  the  shoulder-piece 
Gently  they  swell, 

Which  speaks  him  prone  to  labour,  never  fainting 
Under  the  weight  of  arms  ;  stout-hearted,  still,  r3o 

But,  when  he  stirs,  a  tiger ;  he's  grey-eyed. 
Which  yields  compassion  where  he  conquers ;  sharp 
To  spy  advantages,  and  where  he  finds  'em 

1  The  freckles  were  not  unbecoming;  women  still  regard  a  mole  on  the 
face  as  a  mark  of  beauty.  In  the  last  century  patches  of  black  plaster  were 
worn. 


458  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  IV. 

He's  swift  to  make  'em  his ;  he  does  no  wrongs, 

Nor  takes  none  ;  he's  round-fac'd,  and  when  he  smiles 

He  shows  a  lover,  when  he  frowns  a  soldier. 

About  his  head  he  wears  the  winner's  oak, 

And  in  it  stuck  the  favour  of  his  lady ; 

His  age,  some  six-and-thirty.     In  his  hand 

He  bears  a  charging-staff,^  emboss'd  with  silver.  140 

Theseus.  Are  they  all  thus  ? 

Pirithous.  They're  all  the  sons  of  honour. 

Theseus.  Now,  as  I  have  a  soul,  I  long  to  see  'em  !  — 
Lady,  you  shall  see  men  fight  now. 

Hippolyta.  I  wish  it. 

But  not  the  cause,  my  lord  :  they  would  show 
Bravely  about  the  titles  of  two  kingdoms ; 
'Tis  pity  love  should  be  so  tyrannous.  — 
Oh,  my  soft-hearted  sister,  what  think  you  ? 
Weep  not,  till  they  weep  blood,  wench  !  it  must  be. 

Theseus.  You  have  steel'd  'em  with  your  beauty.  —  Hon- 
our'd  friend,  150 

To  you  I  give  the  field  ;  pray  order  it 
Fitting  the  persons  that  must  use  it ! 

Pirithous.  Yes,  sir. 

Theseus.  Come,  I'll  go  visit  'em  :  I  cannot  stay  — 
Their  fame  has  fir'd  me  so  —  till  they  appear. 
Good  friend,  be  royal ! 

Pirithous.  There  shall  want  no  bravery.^ 

Emilia.  Poor  wench,  go  weep  ;  for  whosoever  wins 
Loses  a  noble  cousin  for  thy  sins.  \_Exeunt? 

1  Lance.  2  Rich  decoration, 

3  "Fletcher's  masterpiece."  —  Hickson.  "In  the  soliloquy  of  the  lady, 
while  the  poetical  spirit  is  well  preserved,  the  alternations  of  feeling  are 
given  with  an  abruptness  and  a  want  of  insight  into  the  nicer  shades  of 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  459 

Scene  III.^ — Athens.     A  Room  in  the  Prison, 
Enter  Gaoler,  Wooer,  and  Doctor. 

Doctor.  Her  distraction  is  more  at  some  time  of  the  moon 
than  at  other  some,  is  it  not  ? 

Gaoler.  She  is  continually  in  a  harmless  distemper ; 
sleeps  little,  altogether  without  appetite,  save  often  drink- 
ing; dreaming  of  another  world,  and  a  better;  and  what 
broken  piece  of  matter  soe'er  she's  about,  the  name  Pala- 
mon  lards  it ;  that  she  farces  ^  every  business  withal,  fits  it  to 
every  question.  —  Look,  where  she  comes  !  you  shall  per- 
ceive her  behaviour.  9 
Enter  Daughter. 

Daughter.  I  have  forgot  it  quite ;  the  burden  on't  was 
"down-a  down-a;  "  and  penned  by  no  worse  man  than  Gi- 
raldo,  Emilia's  schoolmaster :  he's  as  fantastical,  too,  as 
ever  he  may  go  upon's  legs ;  for  in  the  next  world  will  Dido 
see  Palamon,  and  then  will  she  be  out  of  love  with  ^neas. 

Doctor.  What  stuffs  here  !  poor  soul ! 

Gaoler.  Even  thus  all  day  long.  16 

Daughter.  Now  for  this  charm,  that  I  told  you  of:  you 
must  bring  a  piece  of  silver  on  the  tip  of  your  tongue,  or  no 
ferry ;  ^  then  if  it  be  your  chance  to  come  where  the  blessed 

association,  which  resemble  the  extravagant  stage  effects  of  the  King  and 
No  King  infinitely  more  than  the  delicate  yet  piercing  glance  with  which 
Shakespeare  looks  into  the  human  breast  in  the  Othello  ;  the  language,  too, 
is  smoother  and  less  powerful  than  Shakespeare's,  and  one  or  two  classical 
allusions  are  a  little  too  correct  and  studied  for  him,"  —  Spalding. 

1  "  The  idea  of  this  scene  has  some  resemblance  to  that  of  Macbeth,  v.  i." 
—  Skeat. 

2  Stuffs. 

3  The  ancients  placed  a  piece  of  silver  in  the  mouth  of  a  corpse  to  pay 
Charon  for  passage  over  the  Styx. 


46o  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  IV. 

spirits  are  —  there's  a  sight  now  !  —  we  maids  that  have  our 
livers  perished,  cracked  to  pieces  with  love,  we  shall  come 
there,  and  do  nothing  all  day  long  but  pick  flowers  with 
Proserpine  ;  then  will  I  make  Palamon  a  nosegay ;  then  let 
him  —  mark  me  —  then  —  24 

Doctor.  How  prettily  she's  amiss  !  note  her  a  Uttle  fur- 
ther. 

Daughter.  Faith,  I'll  tell  you;  sometime  we  go  to  bar- 
ley-break,^ we  of  the  blessed.  Alas,  'tis  a  sore  life  they  have 
i'  the  other  place,  such  burning,  hissing,  howling,  chattering, 
cursing  !  O,  they  have  shrewd  measure  !  Take  heed  :  if 
one  be  mad,  or  hang  or  drown  themselves,  thither  they  go, 
Jupiter  bless  us  !  and  there  shall  they  be  put  in  a  cauldron 
of  lead,  amongst  a  whole  million  of  cutpurses,  and  there 
boil  like  a  gammon  of  bacon  that  will  never  be  enough.      34 

Doctor.  How  she  continues  this  fancy !  'Tis  not  an 
engraffed  ^  madness,  but  a  most  thick  and  profound  melan- 
choly. 

Daughter.  To  hear  there  a  proud  lady  and  a  proud  city- 
wife  howl  together  !     I  were  a  beast,  an  I'd  call  it  good 
sport ! 
(Sings)  I  will  be  true^  my  stars,  my  fate,  etc. 

\Exit  Daughter. 

Gaoler.  What  think  you  of  her,  sir? 

Doctor.  I  think  she  has  a  perturbed  mind,  which  I  cannot 
minister  to. 

Gaoler.  Alas,  what  then? 

1  "  A  rural  game  often  alluded  to  in  the  old  dramatists.  It  was  played  in 
various  ways,  but  generally  in  the  South  of  England  by  six  persons,  three  of 
each  sex.  The  general  idea  of  it  was  that  one  couple  should  try  to  catch 
the  rest,  when  within  certain  boundaries,  without  letting  go  each  other's 
liands,"'  —  Rolfe. 

2  Grafted. 


SCENE  lll.j  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  46 1 

Doctor.  Understand  you  she  ever  affected  any  man  ere 
she  beheld  Palamon? 

Gaoler.  I  was  once,  sir,  in  great  hope  she  had  fixed  her 
hking  on  this  gentleman,  my  friend.  49 

Wooer.  I  did  think  so  too ;  and  would  account  I  had  a 
great  pen'worth  ^  on't,  to  give  half  my  state  that  both  she 
and  I  at  this  present  stood  unfeignedly  on  the  same  terms. 

Doctor.  That  intemperate  surfeit  of  her  eye  hath  distem- 
pered the  other  senses ;  they  may  return,  and  settle  again 
to  execute  their  preordained  faculties ;  but  they  are  now  in 
a  most  extravagant  vagary.  This  you  must  do  :  confine  her 
to  a  place  where  the  light  may  rather  seem  to  steal  in  than 
be  permitted.  Take  upon  you,  young  sir,  her  friend,  the 
name  of  Palamon ;  say  you  come  to  eat  with  her,  and  to 
commune  of  love ;  this  will  catch  her  attention,  for  this  her 
mind  beats  upon ;  other  objects,  that  are  inserted  'tween 
her  mind  and  eye,  become  the  pranks  and  friskings  of  her 
madness.  Sing  to  her  such  green  ^  songs  of  love  as  she 
says  Palamon  hath  sung  in  prison ;  come  to  her,  stuck  in  as 
sweet  flowers  as  the  season  is  mistress  of,  and  thereto  make 
an  addition  of  some  other  compounded  odours  which  are 
grateful  to  the  sense :  all  this  shall  become  Palamon,  for 
Palamon  can  sing,  and  Palamon  is  sweet,  and  every  good 
thing.  Desire  to  eat  with  her,  carve  ^  her,  drink  to  her,  and 
still  among'*  intermingle  your  petition  of  grace  and  accept- 
ance into  her  favour ;  learn  what  maids  have  been  her  com- 
panions and  play-feres^;  and  let  them  repair  to  her  with 
Palamon  in  their  mouths,  and  appear  to  her  with  tokens,  as 
if  they  suggested  for  him.  It  is  a  falsehood  she  is  in,  which 
is  with  falsehoods  to  be  combated.     This  may  bring  her  to 

i  A  good  bargain.  2  Simple.  8  Carve  for. 

4  Thereto,  6  Playmates ;  travelling  companions. 


462  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  V. 

eat,  to  sleep,  and  reduce  what  is  now  out  of  square  in  her 
into  their  former  law  and  regiment.^  I  have  seen  it  ap- 
proved, how  many  times  I  know  not ;  but  to  make  the 
number  more,  I  have  great  hope  in  this.  I  will,  between 
the  passages  of  this  project,  come  in  with  my  appHance. 
Let  us  put  it  in  execution,  and  hasten  the  success,  which, 
doubt  not,  will  bring  forth  comfort.  \Exeunt.'^ 


ACT  y? 

Scene  I. — Athens.     An  Open  Space  before  the  Temples  of 
Mars,  Venus,  and  Diana. 

Enter  Theseus,  Pirithous,  Hippolyta,  and  Attendants. 

Theseus.  Now  let  'em  enter,  and  before  the  gods 
Tender  their  holy  prayers  !     Let  the  temples 
Burn  bright  with  sacred  fires,  and  the  altars, 
In  hallow'd  clouds  commend  their  swelling  incense 
To  those  above  us  !     Let  no  due  be  wanting  ! 

\_Flourish  of  cornets. 
They  have  a  noble  work  in  hand,  will  honour 
The  very  powers  that  love  'em. 

Enter  Palamon,  Arcite,  and  their  Knights. 

Pirithous.  Sir,  they  enter. 

1  Rule,  order. 

2  Spalding  assigns  this  scene  to  Fletcher ;  but  Hickson  thinks  it  is 
Shakespeare's  "  in  style  and  language,  and  its  freedom  from  all  marks  of 
imitation." 

3  Most  of  the  critics  assign  this  act  (except  Scene  2)  to  Shakespeare ; 
but  Skeat^  LiUledale^  and  Fleay  attribute  the  opening  to  Fletcher, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  463 

Theseus.  You  valiant  and  strong-hearted  enemies, 
You  royal  germane  ^  foes,  that  this  day  come 
To  blow  the  nearness  ^  out  that  flames  between  ye,  10 

Lay  by  your  anger  for  an  hour,  and  dove-like 
Before  the  holy  altars  of  our  helpers. 
The  all- fear 'd  gods,  bow  down  your  stubborn  bodies. 
Your  ire  is  more  than  mortal ;  so  your  help  be  ! 
And  as  the  gods  regard  ye,  fight  with  justice  ! 
I'll  leave  you  to  your  prayers,  and  betwixt  ye 
I  part  my  wishes. 

Pirithous.  Honour  crown  the  worthiest ! 

\_Exeunt  Theseus  and  train. 

Palamon.  The  glass  is  running  now  that  cannot  finish 
Till  one  of  us  expire  :    think  you  but  thus,  — 
That,  were  there  aught  in  me  which  strove  to  show  20 

Mine  enemy  in  this  business,  were't  one  eye 
Against  another,  arm  oppress'd  by  arm, 
I  would  destroy  the  offender ;  coz,  I  would. 
Though  parcel  of  myself :  then  from  this  gather 
How  I  should  tender  you. 

Arcite.  I  am  in  labour 

To  push  your  name,  your  ancient  love,  our  kindred, 
Out  of  my  memory ;  and  i'  the  self-same  place 
To  seat  something  I  would  confound  :  so  hoist  we 
The  sails  that  must  these  vessels  port  even  where 
The  heavenly  Limiter  pleases  ! 

Palamon.  You  speak  well.  30 

Before  I  turn,  let  me  embrace  thee,  cousin.     \They  embrace. 

1  Akin. 

2  Obscure :  Skeat  suggests  "  to  extinguish  that  kinship  that  exists  between 
you."  Rolfe  thinks  that  "  nearness "  refers  to  their  friendship.  Ingleby 
would  substitute  "  fierceness." 


464  THE  TWO    NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  V. 

This  I  shall  never  do  again. 

Arcite.  One  farewell ! 

Palamon,  Why,  let  it  be  so ;  farewell,  coz  ! 

Arcite.  Farewell,  sir  !  — 

\_Exeunt  Palamon  and  his  Knights. 
Knights,  kinsmen,  lovers,  yea,  my  sacrifices, 
True  worshippers  of  Mars,  whose  spirit  in  you 
Expels  the  seeds  of  fear,  and  the  apprehension 
Which  still  is  father  of  it,  go  with  me 
Before  the  god  of  our  profession.     There 
Require  of  him  the  hearts  of  lions,  and 
The  breath  of  tigers,  yea,  the  fierceness  too  ;  40 

Yea,  the  speed  also,  —  to  go  on,  I  mean. 
Else  wish  we  to  be  snails.     You  know  my  prize 
Must  be  dragg'd  out  of  blood ;  force  and  great  feat 
Must  put  my  garland  on,  where  she  will  stick 
The  queen  of  flowers.     Our  intercession,  then, 
Must  be  to  him  that  makes  the  camp  a  cestron^ 
Brimm'd  with  the  blood  of  men  ;  give  me  your  aid, 
And  bend  your  spirits  towards  him.  — 

\They  advance  to  the  altar  of  Mars,  and  fall  on 
their  faces  ;  then  kneel. 
Thou  mighty  one,  that  with  thy  power  hast  turn'd 
Green  Neptune  into  purple  ;  whose  approach  50 

Comets  prewarn  ;  whose  havoc  in  vast  field 
Unearthed  skulls  proclaim  ;  whose  breath  blows  down 
The  teeming  Ceres'  foison^;  who  dost  pluck 
With  hand  armipotent  from  forth  blue  clouds 
The  mason'd  turrets ;  that  both  mak'st  and  break'st 
The  stony  girths  of  cities  ;  me,  thy  pupil, 
Young'st  follower  of  thy  drum,  instruct  this  day 
1  Cistern.  2  plenty. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  465 

With  military  skill,  that  to  thy  laud 

J  may  advance  my  streamer,  and  by  thee 

Be  styl'd  the  lord  o'  the  day.     Give  me,  great  Mars,  60 

Some  token  of  thy  pleasure. 

\_Here  they  fall  071  the Ir  faces  as  before ^  and  there 
is  heard  clanging  of  armour^  with  a  short 
thunder,  as  the  burst  of  a  battle ,  whereupon 
they  all  rise,  and  bow  to  the  altar. 

O  great  corrector  of  enormous  ^  times. 

Shaker  of  o'er-rank  states,  thou  grand  decider 

Of  dusty  and  old  titles,  that  heal'st  with  blood 

The  earth  when  it  is  sick,  and  cur'st  the  world 

O'  the  plurisy  ^  of  people,  I  do  take 

Thy  signs  auspiciously,  and  in  thy  name 

To  my  design  march  boldly  !  —  Let  us  go.  \_Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Palamon  and  his  Knights. 

Palamon.  Our  stars  must  glister  with  new  fires,  or  be 
To-day  extinct ;  our  argument  is  love,  70 

Which  if  the  goddess  of  it  grant,  she  gives 
Victory  too  :  then  blend  your  spirits  with  mine, 
You  whose  free  nobleness  do  make  my  cause 
Your  personal  hazard.     To  the  goddess  Venus 
Commend  we  our  proceeding,  and  implore 
Her  power  unto  our  party  !  — 

\Here  they  advance  to  the  altar  of  Venus,  and 
fall  on  their  faces  ;  then  kneel. 
Hail,  sovereign  queen  of  secrets  !  who  hast  power 
To  call  the  fiercest  tyrant  from  his  rage. 
And  weep  unto  a  girl ;  that  hast  the  might 
Even  with  an  eye-glance  to  choke  Mars's  drum,  80 

1  Monstrous.  2  Plethora. 


466  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  v. 

And  turn  the  alarm  to  whispers ;  that  canst  make 
A  cripple  flourish  with  his  crutch,  and  cure  him 
Before  Apollo  ;  ^  that  mayst  force  the  king 
To  be  his  subject's  vassal,  and  induce 
Stale  gravity  to  dance ;  the  polled  ^  bachelor, 
I  Whose  youth,  Hke  wanton  boys  through  bonfires, 
Have  skipt  thy  flame,  at  seventy  thou  canst  catch. 
And  make  him,  to  the  scorn  of  his  hoarse  throat. 
Abuse  young  lays  of  love.     What  godlike  power 
Hast  thou  not  power  upon  ?     To  Phoebus  thou  90 

Add'st  flames,  hotter  than  his ;  the  heavenly  fires 
Did  scorch  his  mortal  son,  thine  him ;  the  huntress, 
All  moist  and  cold,  some  say,  began  to  throw 
Her  bow  away  and  sigh.^     Take  to  thy  grace 
Me  thy  vow'd  soldier,  who  do  bear  thy  yoke 
As  'twere  a  wreath  of  roses,  yet  is  heavier 
Than  lead  itself,  stings  more  than  nettles.     I 
Have  never  been  foul-mouth'd  against  thy  law. 
Ne'er  reveal'd  secret,  for  I  knew  none,  —  would  not. 
Had  I  kenn'd  all  that  were  ;  I  never  practis'd  100 

Upon  man's  wife,  nor  would  the  libels  read 
Of  liberal  wits  ;  I  never  at  great  feasts 
Sought  to  betray  a  beauty,  but  have  blush'd 
At  simpering  sirs  that  did ;  I  have  been  harsh 
To  large"*  confessors,  and  have  hotly  ask'd  them 
If  they  had  mothers.     I  had  one,  a  woman. 
And  women  'twere  they  wrong'd.     I  knew  a  man 
Of  eighty  winters  —  this  I  told  them  —  who 

1  Before  Apollo  can.  2  Shorn,  bald-headed. 

8  Compare  this  eulogy  of  Venus  with  Zorobabel's  description  of  the 
power  of  woman,  in  the  Apocryphal  Old  Testament,  i  Esdras,  chap.  4.  , 

4  Licentious  boasters.  -, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  467 

A  lass  of  fourteen  brided.     'Twas  thy  power 

To  put  life  into  dust ;  the  aged  cramp  no 

Had  screw'd  his  square  foot  round, 

The  gout  had  knit  his  fingers  into  knots, 

Torturing  convulsions  from  his  globy  ^  eyes 

Had  almost  drawn  their  spheres,  that  what  was  life 

In  him  seem'd  torture.     This  anatomy  ^ 

Had  by  his  young  fair  fere  a  boy,  and  I 

Believ'd  it  was  his,  for  she  swore  it  was. 

And  who  would  not  believe  her  ?     Brief,  I  am 

To  those  that  prate,  and  have  done,  no  companion ; 

To  those  that  boast,  and  have  not,  a  defier ;  120 

To  those  that  would,  and  cannot,  a  rejoicer ; 

Yea,  him  I  do  not  love  that  tells  close  offices 

The  foulest  way,  nor  names  concealments  in 

The  boldest  language  :  such  a  one  I  am, 

And  vow  that  lover  never  yet  made  sigh 

Truer  than  I.     O,  then,  most  soft  sweet  goddess, 

Give  me  the  victory  of  this  question,  which 

Is  true  love's  merit,  and  bless  me  with  a  sign 

Of  thy  great  pleasure  ! 

\_Here  music  is  heard,  doves  a^-e  seen  to  flutter ;  they 
fall  again  upon  their  faces,  then  on  their  knees. 
O  thou  that  from  eleven  to  ninety  reign'st  130 

In  mortal  bosoms,  whose  chase  ^  is  this  world, 
And  we  in  herds  thy  game,  I  give  thee  thanks 
For  this  fair  token,  which,  being  laid  unto 
Mine  innocent  true  heart,  arms  in  assurance 
My  body  to  this  business  !  —  Let  us  rise 
And  bow  before  the  goddess ;  time  comes  on. 

\They  bow,  then  exeunt. 

1  Bulging.  2  Skeleton.  8  Hunting-ground. 


468  THE   TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  V. 

Still  music  of  records.  Enter  Emilia  in  white,  her  hair 
about  her  shoulders,  and  wearing  a  wheaten  wreath  ;  one 
in  white  holding  up  her  train,  her  hair  stuck  with  flowers  ; 
one  before  her  carrying  a  silver  hind,  in  which  is  conveyed 
incense  and  sweet  odours,  which  being  set  upon  the  altar  of 
Diana,  her  Maids  standing  aloof,  she  sets  fire  to  it;  then 
they  curtsy  and  kneel. 

Emilia.  O  sacred,  shadowy,  cold,  and  constant  queen, 
Abandoner  of  revels,  mute,  contemplative. 
Sweet,  solitary,  white  as  chaste,  and  pure 
As  wind-fann'd  snow,  who  to  thy  female  knights  140 

Allow'st  no  more  blood  than  will  make  a  blush. 
Which  is  their  order's  robe,  I  here,  thy  priest. 
Am  humbled  'fore  thine  altar  !     O,  vouchsafe. 
With  that  thy  rare  green  ^  eye  —  which  never  yet 
Beheld  thing  maculate  —  look  on  thy  virgin  ! 
And,  sacred  silver  mistress,  lend  thine  ear — 
Which  ne'er  heard  scurril  ^  term,  into  whose  port 
Ne'er  entered  wanton  sound  —  to  my  petition, 
Season'd  with  holy  fear  !     This  is  my  last 
Of  vestal  office  ;  I'm  bride  habited,  150 

But  maiden-hearted ;  a  husband  I  have  pointed,^ 
But  do  not  know  him ;  out  of  two  I  should 
Choose  one,  and  pray  for  his  success,  but  I 
Am  guiltless  of  election ;  of  mine  eyes. 
Were  I  to  lose  one  —  they  are  equal  precious  — 

1  Green  eyes  were  esteemed  peculiarly  beautiful ;  so  Romeo  and  Juliet, 

iii,  5,  221 :  — 

**  An  eagle,  madam, 
Hath  not  so  green,  so  quick,  so  fair  an  eye." 

Dante  describes  Beatrice's  eyes  as  smeraldi,  emeralds.     Purgatorio,  xxxi, 
116. 

2  Scurrilous.  ^  Appointed. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  469^ 

I  could  doom  neither ;  that  which  perish'd  should 

Go  to't  unsentenc'd  :  therefore,  most  modest  queen, 

He,  of  the  two  pretenders,^  that  best  loves  me 

And  has  the  truest  title  in't,  let  him 

Take  off  my  wheaten  garland,^  or  else  grant  160 

The  file  and  quality  I  hold  I  may 

Continue  in  thy  band.  — 

\_Here  the  hind  vanishes  under  the  altar,  and  in 
the  place  ascends  a  rose-tree,  having  one 
rose  upon  it. 

See  what  our  general  of  ebbs  and  flows  ^ 

Out  from  the  bowels  of  her  holy  altar 

With  sacred  act  advances  !     But  one  rose  ! 

If  well  inspir'd,  this  battle  shall  confound 

Both  these  brave  knights,  and  I,  a  virgin  flower. 

Must  grow  alone,  unpluck'd. 

[Here  is  heard  a  sudden  twang  of  instruments, 
and  the  rose  falls  from  the  tree,  which  van- 
ishes under  the  altar. 

The  flower  is  fallen,  the  tree  descends  !  —  O  mistress. 

Thou  here  dischargest  me  !     I  shall  be  gather'd,  170 

I  think  so ;  but  I  know  not  thine  own  will : 

Unclasp  thy  mystery  !  —  I  hope  she's  pleas'd  ; 

Her  signs  were  gracious.  \They  curtsy,  and  exeunt. 

1  Suitors.  2  Nuptial  wreath. 

8  Refers  to  the  moon  (Diana)  as  ruler  of  the  tides. 


470  THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  v. 

Scene  II.  —  A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Doctor,  Gaoler,  and  Wooer  in  the  habit  of  Palamon. 

Doctor.  Has  this  advice  I  told  you  done  any  good  upon 
her? 

Wooer.  O,  very  much  :  the  maids  that  kept  her  company 
Have  half  persuaded  her  that  I  am  Palamon ; 
Within  this  half-hour  she  came  smiling  to  me, 
And  ask'd  me  what  I'd  eat,  and  when  I'd  kiss  her : 
I  told  her  presently,  and  kissed  her  twice. 

Doctor.  'Twas  well    done ;    twenty  times    had   been   far 
better. 
For  there  the  cure  lies  mainly. 

Wooer.  Then  she  told  me 

She  would  watch  with  me  to-night,  for  well  she  knew  lo 

What  hour  my  fit  would  take  me. 

Doctor.  Let  her  do  so. 

Wooer.  She  would  have  me  sing. 

Doctor,  You  did  so? 

Wooer.  No. 

Doctor.  'Twas  very  ill  done,  then ; 
You  should  observe  her  every  way. 

Wooer.  Alas ! 

I  have  no  voice,  sir,  to  confirm  her  that  way. 

Doctor.  That's  all  one,  if  ye  make  a  noise ; 
If  she  entreat  again,  do  anything. 
Ne'er  cast  your  child  away  for  honesty. 

Gaoler.  Thank  you,  doctor. 

Doctor.  Pray,  bring  her  in,  20 

And  let's  see  how  she  is. 

Gaoler.  I  will,  and  tell  her 


SCENE  11.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  47 1 

Her  Palamon  stays  for  her ;  but,  doctor, 

Methinks  you  are  i'  the  wrong  still.  [^Exit 

Doctor.  Go,  go ; 

You  fathers  are  fine  fools  :  her  honesty  ! 
An  we  should  give  her  physic  till  we  find  that  — 

Wooer.  Why,  do  you  think  she  is  not  honest,  sir? 

Doctor.  How  old  is  she  ? 

Wooer.  She's  eighteen. 

Doctor.  She  may  be  j 

But  that's  all  one,  'tis  nothing  to  our  purpose. 
Whate'er  her  father  says,  if  you  perceive 
Her  mood  inclining  that  way  that  I  spoke  of.  — 

Wooer.  Yes,  very  well,  sir.  30 

Enter  Gaoler,  Daughter,  and  Maid. 

Gaoler.  Come  ;  your  love  Palamon  stays  for  you,  child  ; 
And  has  done  this  long  hour,  to  visit  you. 

Daughter.  I  thank  him  for  his  gentle  patience ; 
He's  a  kind  gentleman,  and  I  am  much  bound  to  him. 
Did  you  ne'er  see  the  horse  he  gave  me  ? 

Gaoler.  Yes. 

Daughter.  How  do  you  like  him  ? 

Gaoler.  He's  a  very  fair  one. 

Daughter.  You  never  saw  him  dance  ? 

Gaoler.  No. 

Daughter.  I  have  often  : 

He  dances  very  finely,  very  comely ; 
And,  for  a  jig,  come  cut  and  long  tail^  to  him  ! 
He  turns  ye  like  a  top. 

Gaoler.  That's  fine  indeed.  40 

1  Proverbial  phrase, "  Let  horses  of  every  kind  compete  with  and  beat  him, 
if  they  can." 


472  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  V. 

Daughter.  He'll  dance  the  morris  twenty  mile  an  hour, — 
And  that  will  founder  the  best  hobby-horse, 
If  I  have  any  skill,  in  all  the  parish,  — 
And  gallops  to  the  tune  of  ''  Light  o'  Love  "  ; 
What  think  you  of  this  horse  ? 

Gaoler.  Having  these  virtues, 

I  think  he  might  be  brought  to  play  at  tennis. 

Daughter.  Alas,  that's  nothing  ! 

Gaoler.  Can  he  write  and  read  too? 

Daughter.  A  very  fair  hand,  and  casts  himself  the  accounts 
Of  all  his  hay  and  provender ;  that  hostler 
Must  rise  betime  that  cozens  him.     You  know  50 

The  chestnut  mare  the  duke  has  ? 

Gaoler.  Very  well. 

Daughter.  She  is  horribly  in  love  with  him,  poor  beast ; 
But  he  is  like  his  master,  coy  and  scornful. 

Gaoler.  What  dowry  has  she  ? 

Daughter.  Some  two  hundred  bottles/ 

And  twenty  strike  ^  of  oats  :  but  he'll  ne'er  have  her ; 
He  hsps  in's  neighing,  able  to  entice 
A  miller's  mare ;  ^  he'll  be  the  death  of  her. 

Doctor.  What  stuff  she  utters  ! 

Gaoler.  Make  curtsy ;  here  your  lover  comes. 

Wooer.  Pretty  soul, 

How  do  ye  ?     That's  a  fine  maid  !  there's  a  curtsy  !  60 

Daughter.  Yours  to  command,  i'  the  way  of  honesty. 
How  far  is't  now  to  the  end  o'  the  world,  my  masters  ? 

Doctor.  Why,  a  day's  journey,  wench. 

1  Bundles  of  hay.  2  Bushel;  still  used  in  provincial  English. 

3  "A  miller's  mare,  working  round  a  beaten  track  (to  drive  the  mill), 
was  perhaps  proverbial  for  her  steady-going  attention  to  business."  —  Little- 
dale. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  473 

Daughter.  Will  you  go  with  me? 

Wooer.  What  shall  we  do  there,  wench  ? 

Daughter.  Why,  play  at  stool-ball.^ 

What  is  there  else  to  do? 

Wooer.  I  am  content, 

If  we  shall  keep  our  wedding  there. 

Daughter.  'Tis  true ; 

For  there,  I  will  assure  you,  we  shall  find 
Some  blind  priest  for  the  purpose,  that  will  venture 
To  marry  us,  for  here  they  are  nice  ^  and  foolish ; 
Besides,  my  father  must  be  hang'd  to-morrow,  70 

And  that  would  be  a  blot  i'  the  business. 
Are  not  you  Palamon? 

Wooer.  Do  not  you  know  me  ? 

Daughter.  Yes ;  but  you  care  not  for  me ;  I  have  noth- 
ing 
But  this  poor  petticoat  and  two  coarse  smocks. 

Wooer.  That's  all  one ;  I  will  have  you. 

Daughter.  Will  you  surely? 

Wooer.  Yes,  by  this  fair  hand,  will  I.  \^Kisses  her. 

Daughter.  O,  sir,  you'd  fain  be  nibbling  ! 

Wooer.  Why  do  you  rub  my  kiss  off? 

Daughter.  'Tis  a  sweet  one. 

And  will  perfume  me  finely  against  the  wedding.  — 
Is  not  this  your  cousin  Arcite  ? 

Doctor.  Yes,  sweetheart ; 

And  I  am  glad  my  cousin  Palamon  80 

Has  made  so  fair  a  choice. 

Daughter.  Do  you  think  he'll  have  me  ? 

1  A  game  popular  among  young  women,  played  with  a  ball  and  one  or 
two  stools. 
•     2  Over-particular. 


474  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  v. 

Doctor.  Yes,  without  doubt. 

Daughter.  Do  you  think  so  too? 

Gaoler.  Yes. 

Daughter.  We  shall  have  many  children.  —  Lord,  how 
y'  are  grown  ! 
My  Palamon  I  hope  will  grow  too,  finely, 
Now  he's  at  liberty ;  alas,  poor  chicken  ! 
He  was  kept  down  with  hard  meat  and  ill  lodging, 
But  I  will  kiss  him  up  again. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger.  What  do  you  here?  you'll   lose  the  noblest 
sight 
That  e'er  was  seen. 

Gaoler.  Are  they  i'  the  field  ? 

Messenger.  They  are ; 

You  bear  a  charge  there  too. 

Gaoler.  I'll  away  straight.  —  90 

I  must  even  leave  you  here. 

Doctor.  Nay,  we'll  go  with  you  j 

I  will  not  lose  the  sight. 

Gaoler.  How  did  you  Hke  her? 

Doctor.  I'll  warrynt  you,  within  these  three  or  four  days 
I'll  make  her  right  again.  —  You  must  not  ft-om  her, 
But  still  preserve  her  in  this  way. 

Wooer.  I  will. 

Doctor.  Let's  get  her  in. 

Wooer.  Come,  sweet,  we'll  go  to  dinner ; 

And  then  we'll  play  at  cards.  {Exeunt} 

1  This  scene  is  "  disgusting  and  imbecile  in  the  extreme,"  and  "  may  be 
dismissed  with  a  single  quotation  :  '  What  stuff  she  utters  ! '  "  —  Spalding. 
"  The  former  scene  (Act  iv,  3)  is  in  prose  wholly,  while  this  is  in  Fletcher's    • 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  475 

Scene  III.  —  A  Part  of  the  Forest,  near  the  Place  of  Combat. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Emilia,  Pirithous,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

Emilia.  I'll  no  step  further. 

Pirithous.  Will  you  lose  this  sight? 

Emilia.  I  had  rather  see  a  wren  hawk  at  a  fly 
Than  this  decision :  every  blow  that  falls 
Threats  a  brave  life  ;  each  stroke  laments 
The  place  whereon  it  falls,  and  sounds  more  like 
A  bell  than  blade.     I  will  stay  here,  — 
It  is  enough  my  hearing  shall  be  punished 
With  what  shall  happen,  'gainst  the  which  there  is 
No  deafing  but  to  hear,  —  not  taint  mine  eye 
With  dread  sights  it  may  shun. 

Pirithous.  Sir,  my  good  lord,  10 

Your  sister  will  no  further. 

Theseus.  O,  she  must ! 

She  shall  see  deeds  of  honour  in  their  kind, 
Which  sometime  show  well,  pencill'd ;  nature  now 
Shall  make  and  act  the  story,  the  belief 
Both  seal'd  with  eye  and  ear.     You  must  be  present ; 
You  are  the  victor's  meed,  the  price  and  garland 
To  crown  the  question's  title. 

Emilia.  Pardon  me ; 

If  I  were  there,  I'd  wink. 

Theseus.  You  must  be  there  ; 

verse ;  but,  in  short,  the  tone  and  moral  effect  of  the  two  scenes  are  so  dif- 
ferent, the  same  characters  have  so  altered  an  aspect,  the  language,  senti- 
ments, and  allusions  are  so  unlike,  that  the  case  of  any  one  who  can  read 
and  deliberately  compare  them,  and  still  believe  them  to  be  by  the  same 
writer,  we  must  give  over  as  hopeless."  —  Hickson. 


476  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  V. 

This  trial  is  as  'twere  i'  the  night,  and  you 
The  only  star  to  shine. 

Emilia.  I  am  extinct ;  oo 

There  is  but  envy  ^  in  that  light  which  shews 
The  one  the  other.     Darkness,  which  ever  was 
The  dam  of  Horror,  who  does  stand  accurs'd 
Of  many  mortal  millions,  may  even  now, 
By  casting  her  black  mantle  over  both. 
That  neither  could  find  other,  get  herself 
Some  part  of  a  good  name,  and  many  a  murther 
Set  off  ^  whereto  she's  guilty. 

Hippo lyta.  .    You  must  go. 

Emilia.  In  faith,  I  will  not. 

Theseus.  Why,  the  knights  must  kindle 

Their  valour  at  your  eye  ;  know,  of  this  war  30 

You  are  the  treasure,  and  must  needs  be  by 
To  give  the  service  pay. 

Emilia.  Sir,  pardon  me  ; 

The  title  of  a  kingdom  may  be  tried 
Out  of  itself. 

Theseus.       Well,  well,  then,  at  your  pleasure  ! 
Those  that  remain  with  you  could  wish  their  office 
To  any  of  their  enemies. 

Hippo  lyta.  Farewell,  sister  ! 

I  am  like  to  know  your  husband  'fore  yourself, 
By  some  small  start  of  time  ;  he  whom  the  gods 
Do  of  the  two  know  best,  I  pray  them  he 
Be  made  your  lot !  40 

\_Exeunt  all  except  Emilia  and  some  of  the  Attendants. 

Emilia.  Arcite  is  gently  visag'd,  yet  his  eye 
Is  like  an  engine  bent,^  or  a  sharp  weapon 

1  Malice.  2  Offset.  a  Ready  for  use. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  477 

In  a  soft  sheath  ;  mercy  and  manly  courage 

Are  bedfellows  in  his  visage.     Palamon 

Has  a  most  menacing  aspect ;  his  brow 

Is  grav'd,  and  seems  to  bury  what  it  frowns  on : 

Yet  sometimes  'tis  not  so,  but  alters  to 

The  quaUty  of  his  thoughts ;  long  time  his  eye 

Will  dwell  upon  his  object.     Melancholy 

Becomes  him  nobly ;  so  does  Arcite's  mirth  :  50 

But  Palamon's  sadness  is  a  kind  of  mirth, 

So  mingled  as  if  mirth  did  make  him  sad, 

And  sadness  merry ;  those  darker  humours  that 

Stick  misbecomingly  on  others,  on  him 

Live  in  fair  dwelling.  — 

[  Co7'nets.     Trumpets  sound  as  to  a  charge. 

Hark,  how  yon  spurs  to  spirit  do  incite 

The  princes  to  their  proof !     Arcite  may  win  me ; 

And  yet  may  Palamon  wound  Arcite,  to 

The  spoiHng  of  his  figure.     O,  what  pity 

Enough  for  such  a  chance  !     If  I  were  by,  60 

I  might  do  hurt ;  for  they  would  glance  their  eyes 

Toward  my  seat,  and  in  that  motion  might 

Omit  a  ward,^  or  forfeit  an  offence.^ 

Which  crav'd  that  very  time  :  it  is  much  better 

\^Cornets.     Cry  within,  "A  Palamon  !  " 

I  am  not  there  :  O,  better  never  born 

Than  minister  to  such  harm  !  — What  is  the  chance? 
Sei'vant.  The  cry's  "A  Palamon." 
Emilia.  Then  he  has  won.     'Twas  ever  likely ; 

He  look'd  all  grace  and  success,  and  he  is 

Doubtless  the  prim'st  of  men.     I  prithee  run,  70 

1  Guard.  2  Blow. 


478  THE  TWO    NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [ACT  V. 

And  tell  me  how  it  goes. 

\_Shout,  and  cornets;  cry,  "  A  Palamon  !  " 
Servant.  Still  "  Palamon." 

Emilia.  Run  and  inquire.  —  {^Exit  Servant.)   Poor  ser- 
vant, thou  hast  lost ! 
Upon  my  right  side  still  I  wore  thy  picture, 
Palamon's  on  the  left :  why  so,  I  know  not ; 
1  had  no  end  in't  else ;  chance  would  have  it  so. 

[Another  cry  and  shout  ivithin,  and  cornets. 
On  the  sinister  side  the  heart  lies ;  Palamon 
Had  the  best-boding  chance.     This  burst  of  clamour 
Is,  sure,  the  end  o'  the  combat. 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Servant.  They  said  that  Palamon  had  Arcite's  body 
Within  an  inch  o'  the  pyramid,  that  the  cry  80 

Was  general  "  A  Palamon  "  ;  but  anon. 
The  assistants  made  a  brave  redemption,'  and 
The  two  bold  tilters  at  this  instant  are 
Hand  to  hand  at  it. 

Emilia.  Were  they  metamorphos'd 

Both  into  one  —  O,  why,  there  were  no  woman 
Worth  so  compos'd  a  man  !     Their  single  share. 
Their  nobleness  pecuhar  to  them,  gives 
The  prejudice  of  disparity,  value's  shortness, 

\_Cornets.      Cry  within,  "  Arcite,  Arcite  !  " 
To  any  lady  breathing.  —  More  exulting  ! 
"Palamon"  still? 

Servant.  Nay,  now  the  sound  is  "  Arcite."  90 

Emilia.  I  prithee  lay  attention  to  the  cry ; 

\_Cornets.  A  great  shout  and  cry,  "  Arcite,  victory  !  " 

1  Rescue. 


SCENE  III,]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  479 

Set  both  thine  ears  to  the  business. 

Serva?7t.  The  cry  is 

"  Arcite,  and  victory  !  "     Hark  "  Arcite,  victory  !  " 
The  combat's  consummation  is  proclaim'd 
By  the  wind-instruments. 

Emilia.  Half-sights^  saw- 

That  Arcite  was  no  babe ;  God's  Hd,  his  richness 
And  costHness  of  spirit  look'd  through  him  !  it  could 
No  more  be  hid  in  him  than  fire  in  flax, 
Than  humble  banks  can  go  to  law  with  waters 
That  drift- winds  force  to  raging.     I  did  think  100 

Good  Palamon  would  miscarry ;  yet  I  knew  not 
Why  I  did  think  so  :  our  reasons  are  not  prophets, 
When  oft  our  fancies  are.     They're  coming  off; 
Alas,  poor  Palamon  !  [^Cornets. 

Enter  Theseus,   Hippolyta,   Pirithous,  Arcite  as  victor. 
Attendants,  etc. 

Theseus.  Lo,  where  our  sister  is  in  expectation, 
Yet  quaking  and  unsettled  !  —  Fairest  Emily, 
The  gods  by  their  divine  arbitrement, 
Have  given  you  this  knight ;  he  is  a  good  one 
As  ever  struck  at  head.  —  Give  me  your  hands  ! 
Receive  you  her,  you  him  ;  be  plighted  with  no 

A  love  that  grows  as  you  decay  ! 

Arcite.  Emily, 

To  buy  you  I  have  lost  what's  dearest  to  me. 
Save  what  is  bought ;  and  yet  I  purchase  cheaply, 
As  I  do  rate  your  value. 

Theseus.  O,  lov'd  sister. 

He  speaks  now  of  as  brave  a  knight  as  e'er 

1  Hasty  glances. 


480  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  v. 

Did  spur  a  noble  steed ;  surely  the  gods 

Would  have  him  die  a  bachelor,  lest  his  race 

Should  show  i'  the  world  too  godUke  !     His  behaviour 

So  charm'd  me,  that  methought  Alcides  ^  was 

To  him  a  sow^  of  lead  ;  if  I  could  praise  120 

Each  part  of  him  to  the  all  I've  spoke,  your  Arcite 

Did  not  lose  by't,  for  he  that  was  thus  good 

Encounter'd  yet  his  better.     I  have  heard 

Two  emulous  Philomels  ^  beat  the  ear  o'  the  night, 

With  their  contentious  throats,  now  one  the  higher. 

Anon  the  other,  then  again  the  first, 

And  by  and  by  out-breasted,'^  that  the  sense 

Could  not  be  judge  between  'em ;  so  it  fair'd 

Good  space  between  these  kinsmen,  till  heavens  did 

Make  hardly  one  the  winner. — Wear  the  garland  130 

With  joy  that  you  have  won  !  —  For  the  subdued. 

Give  them  our  present  justice,  since  I  know 

Their  lives  but  pinch  ^  'em ;  let  it  here  be  done, 

The  scene's  not  for  our  seeing ;  go  we  hence, 

Right  joyful,  with  some  sorrow  !  —  Arm  your  prize  ;^ 

I  know  you  will  not  lose  her.  —  Hippolyta, 

I  see  one  eye  of  yours  conceives  a  tear, 

The  which  it  will  deliver.  \Flourish. 

1  Hercules. 

2  "  Sow,  V^^pig,  is  used  to  denote  a  mass  of  smelted  metal."  —  Rolfe. 
8  Nightingales,  ^  Out-sung. 

5  "  Vex  them.  It  was  in  the  very  spirit  of  chivalry  that  a  warrior  should 
not  care  to  survive  defeat.  This  doc>m  of  Palamon  and  his  three  knights 
would  be  revolting,  if  it  were  not  that  the  spectators  might  be  expected  to 
know  enough  of  Chaucer's  story  to  make  them  suspect  that  the  sentence 
would  not  really  be  executed.  To  which  must  be  added  the  consideration, 
that  the  spectators  of  plays  in  the  time  of  James  I  could  behold,  almost 
unmoved,  many  things  which  we  now  shudder  even  to  read."  —  Skeat. 

6  Embrace. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  481 

Emilia.  Is  this  winning? 

0  all  you  heavenly  powers,  where  is  your  mercy? 

But  that  your  wills  have  said  it  must  be  so,  140 

And  charge  me  live  to  comfort  this  unfriended, 

This  miserable  prince,  that  cuts  away 

A  life  more  worthy  from  him  than  all  women, 

1  should  and  would  die  too. 

Hippolyta.  Infinite  pity, 

That  four  such  eyes  should  be  so  fix'd  on  one 
That  two  must  needs  be  blind  for't ! 

Theseus,  So  it  is.       \_Exeunf} 

Scene  IV. —  The  Same  Fart  of  the  Forest  as  in  Act  III, 
Scene  VI. 

Enter  Palamon  and  his  Knights  pinio?i.ed,  Gaoler,  Execu- 
tioner, and  Guard. 

Falamon.  There's  many  a  man  alive  that  hath  outliv'd 
The  love  o'  the  people ;  yea,  i'  the  self-same  state 
Stands  many  a  father  with  his  child.     Some  comfort 
We  have  by  so  considering ;  we  expire, 
And  not  without  men's  pity  ;  to  live  still 
Have  their  good  wishes  ;  we  prevent 
The  loathsome  misery  of  age,  beguile 
The  gout  and  rheum,  that  in  lag^  hours  attend 
For  grey  approachers  j  we  come  towards  the  gods 

1  The  details  of  this  scene,  says  Spalding,  "  make  it  clear  that  Shake- 
speare's hand  was  in  it.  The  greater  part,  it  is  true,  is  not  of  the  highest 
excellence ;  but  the  vacilla.tions  of  Emilia's  feelings  are  well  and  delicately 
given,  some  individual  thoughts  and  words  mark  Shakespeare;  there  is 
little  of  his  obscure  brevity,  much  of  his  thoughtfulness  legitimately  applied, 
and  an  instance  or  two  of  its  abuse." 

2  Lingering,  or  late. 


482  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [ACT  v. 

Young  and  unwapper'd,^  not  halting  under  crimes  10 

Many  and  stale ;  that,  sure,  shall  please  the  gods 
Sooner  than  such,  to  give  us  nectar  with  'em. 
For  we  are  more  clear  spirits.     My  dear  kinsmen. 
Whose  lives  for  this  poor  comfort  are  laid  down, 
You've  sold  'em  too-too  cheap. 

1st  Knight.  What  ending  could  be 

Of  more  content?     O'er  us  the  victors  have 
Fortune,  whose  title  is  as  momentary 
As  to  us  death  is  certain ;  a  grain  of  honour 
They  not  o'erweigh  us. 

2d  Knight.  Let  us  bid  farewell. 

And  with  our  patience  anger  tottering  Fortune,  20 

Who,  at  her  certain'st,  reels. 

3d  Knight.  Come  ;  who  begins  ? 

Palamon.  Even  he  that  led  you  to  this  banquet  shall 
Taste  ^  to  you  all.  —  Ah  ha,  my  friend,  my  friend  ! 
Your  gentle  daughter  gave  me  freedom  once  ; 
You'll  see't  done  now  for  ever.     Pray,  how  does  she  ? 
I  heard  she  was  not  well ;  her  kind  of  ill 
Gave  me  some  sorrow. 

Gaoler.  Sir,  she's  well  restor'd, 

And  to  be  married  shortly. 

Palamon.  By  my  short  hfe, 

I  am  most  glad  on't !     'Tis  the  latest  thing 
I  shall  be  glad  of ;  prithee,  tell  her  so  :  30 

Commend  me  to  her,  and,  to  piece  her  portion. 
Tender  her  this.  [  Gives  a  purse. 

1st  Knight.  Nay,  let's  be  offerers  all. 

1  Unworn. 

2  "  Alluding  to  the  ancient  custom  of  having  the  king's  food  tasted  before 
it  was  served,  as  a  precaution  against  poison."  —  Rolfe. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  483 

2d  Knight.  Is  it  a  maid  ? 

Palamon.  Verily,  I  think  so ; 

A  right  good  creature,  more  to  me  deserving 
Than  I  can  quit  or  speak  of. 

All  Knights.  Commend  us  to  her.  [  Give  their  purses. 

Gaoler.  The  gods  requite  you  all, 

And  make  her  thankful ! 

Palamon.  Adieu  !  and  let  my  life  be  now  as  short 
As  my  leave-taking.  \^Lays  his  head  on  the  block. 

1st  Knight.  Lead,  courageous  cousin. 

2d  Knight.  We'll  follow  cheerfully. 

\_A  great  noise  within,  crying,  "  Run,  save,  hold  !  " 

Enter  in  haste  a  Messenger. 

Messenger.  Hold,  hold  !     O,  hold,  hold,  hold  !  40 

Enter  Pirithous  in  haste. 

Pirithous.  Hold,  ho  !  it  is  a  cursed  haste  you  made, 
If  you  have  done  so  quickly.  —  Noble  Palamon, 
The  gods  will  show  their  glory  in  a  life 
That  thou  art  yet  to  lead. 

Palamon.  Can  that  be,  when 

Venus  I've  said  is  false?     Howvido  things  fare? 

Pirithous.  Arise,  great  sir,  and  give  the  tidings  ear 
That  are  most  dearly  sweet  and  bitter  ! 

Palamon.  What 

Hath  wak'd  us  from  our  dream  ?  [Palamon  rises. 

Pirithous.  List  then  !     Your  cousin. 

Mounted  upon  a  steed  that  Emily 

Did  first  bestow  on  him,  —  a  black  one,  owing  ^  50 

Not  a  hair- worth  of  white,  which  some  will  say 
1  Owning. 


484  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [act  V. 

Weakens  his  price,  and  many  will  not  buy 

His  goodness  with  this  note  ;  which  superstition 

Here  finds  allowance,  —  on  this  horse  is  Arcite, 

Trotting  the  stones  of  Athens,  which  the  calkins  ^ 

Did  rather  tell  ^  than  trample  ;  for  the  horse 

Would  make  his  length  a  mile,  if  t  pleas'd  his  rider 

To  put  pride  in  him  :  as  he  thus  went  counting 

The  flinty  pavement,  dancing  as  'twere  to  the  music 

His  own  hoofs  made  —  for,  as  they  say,  from  iron  60 

Came  music's  origin  —  what  envious  flint. 

Cold  as  old  Saturn,  and  like  him  possessed 

With  fire  malevolent,  darted  a  spark. 

Or  what  fierce  sulphur  else,  to  this  end  made, 

I  comment  not ;  the  hot  horse,  hot  as  fire, 

Took  toy  ^  at  this,  and  fell  to  what  disorder 

His  power  could  give  his  will,  bounds,  comes  on  end. 

Forgets  school-doing,  being  therein  trained, 

And  of  kind  manage  ^ ;  pig-like  he  whines 

At  the  sharp  rowel,  which  he  frets  at  rather  70 

Than  any  jot  obeys  ;  seeks  all  foul  means 

Of  boisterous  and  rough  jadery,"'  to  disseat 

His  lord  that  kept  it  bravely.     When  nought  serv'd. 

When  neither  curb  would  crack,  girth  break,  nor  differing 

plunges 
Disroot  his  rider  whence  he  grew,  but  that 
He  kept  him  'tween  his  legs,  on  his  hind  hoofs 
On  end  he  stands. 
That  Arcite's  legs  being  higher  than  his  head, 

1  The  parts  of  a  horseshoe  which  are  turned  up  and  pointed  to  prevent 
a  horse  from  slipping. 

2  Count,  •*  Managing  a  horse  ;  French  manege. 
8  Freak.  ^  Viciousness. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  485 

Seem'd  with  strange  art  to  hang ;  his  victor's  wreath 

Even  then  fell  off  his  head,  and  presently  80 

Backward  the  jade  comes  o'er,  and  his  full  poise 

Becomes  the  rider's  load.     Yet  is  he  living ; 

But  such  a  vessel  'tis  that  floats  but  for 

The  surge  that  next  approaches :  he  much  desires 

To  have  some  speech  with  you.     Lo,  he  appears  ! 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Emilia,  and  Arcite  borne  in  a 

chair. 

Palamon.  O  miserable  end  of  our  alliance  ! 
The  gods  are  mighty  !  —  Arcite,  if  thy  heart, 
Thy  worthy  manly  heart,  be  yet  unbroken. 
Give  me  thy  last  words ;  I  am  Palamon ; 
One  that  yet  loves  thee  dying. 

Arcite.  Take  EmiHa,  90 

And  with  her  all  the  world's  joy.     Reach  thy  hand  ; 
Farewell !  I've  told  my  last  hour.     I  was  false. 
Yet  never  treacherous  ;  forgive  me,  cousin  !  — 
One  kiss  from  fair  EmiHa  !     {^Kisses  her.)  —  'Tis  done  : 
Take  her.     I  die  !  \_Dies. 

Palamon.  Thy  brave  soul  seek  Elysium  ! 

Emilia.  I'll   close    thine  eyes,  prince ;   blessed  souls  be 
with  thee  ! 
Thou  art  a  right  good  man ;  and,  while  I  live, 
This  day  I  give  to  tears. 

Palamon.  And  I  to  honour. 

Theseus.  In  this  place  first  you  fought ;  even  very  here 
I  sunder'd  you  :  acknowledge  to  the  gods  100 

Your  thanks  that  you  are  living. 
His  part  is  play'd,  and,  though  it  were  too  short, 
He  did  it  well ;  your  day  is  lengthen'd,  and 


486  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  [act  v. 

The  blissful  dew  of  heaven  does  arrose  ^  you. 
The  powerful  Venus  well  hath  grac'd  her  altar, 
And  given  you  your  love ;  our  master  Mars 
Has  vouch'd  his  oracle,  and  to  Arcite  gave 
The  grace  of  the  contention  :  so  the  deities 
Have  show'd  due  justice.  —  Bear  this  hence. 

Palamon.  O  cousin, 

That  we  should  things  desire  which  do  cost  us  no 

The  loss  of  our  desire  !  that  nought  could  buy 
Dear  love  but  loss  of  dear  love  ! 

Theseus.  Never  fortune 

Did  play  a  subtler  game  :  the  conquer'd  triumphs, 
The  victor  has  the  loss ;  yet  in  the  passage 
The  gods  have  been  most  equal.     Palamon, 
Your  kinsman  hath  confess'd  the  right  o'  the  lady 
Did  He  in  you,  for  you  first  saw  her  and 
Even  then  proclaim'd  your  fancy ;  he  restor'd  her, 
As  your  stolen  jewel,  and  desir'd  your  spirit 
To  send  him  hence  forgiven.     The  gods  my  justice  120 

Take  from  my  hand,  and  they  themselves  become 
The  executioners.     Lead  your  lady  off; 
And  call  your  lovers  from  the  stage  of  death, 
Whom  I  adopt  my  friends.     A  day  or  two 
Let  us  look  sadly,  and  give  grace  unto 
The  funeral  of  Arcite  ;  in  whose  end 
The  visages  of  bridegrooms  we'll  put  on. 
And  smile  with  Palamon,  for  whom  an  hour. 
But  one  hour  since,  I  was  as  dearly  sorry 
As  glad  of  Arcite,  and  am  now  as  glad  130 

As  for  him  sorry.  —  O  you  heavenly  charmers,^ 
What  things  you  make  of  us  !     For  what  we  lack 
1  Besprinkle.  2  Enchanters. 


EPILOGUE.]  THE  TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.  487 

We  laugh,  for  what  we  have  are  sorry ;  still 

Are  children  in  some  kind.     Let  us  be  thankful 

For  that  which  is,  and  with  you  leave  dispute. 

That  are  above  our  question.  —  Let's  go  off, 

And  bear  us  like  the  time.  [^Flourish.     Exeunt} 


EPILOGUE. 


I  would  now  ask  ye  how  ye  like  the  play ; 
But,  as  it  is  with  school-boys,  cannot  say 
I  am  cruel-fearful.     Pray,  yet  stay  a  while. 
And  let  me  look  upon  ye.     No  man  smile  ? 
Then  it  goes  hard,  I  see.  —  He  that  has 

1  "  The  manner  is  Shakespeare's,  and  some  parts  are  little  inferior  to  his 
very  finest  passages."  —  Spalding:  "The  scene  is  opened  by  Shakespeare 
in  his  most  majestic  vein  of  meditative  or  moral  verse,  pointed  and  coloured 
as  usual  with  him  alone  by  direct  and  absolute  aptitude  to  the  immediate 
sentiment  and  situation  of  the  speaker  and  of  no  man  else :  then  either 
Fletcher  strikes  in  for  a  moment  with  a  touch  of  somewhat  more  Shake- 
spearean tone  than  usual,  or  possibly  we  have  a  survival  of  some  lines' 
length,  not  unretouched  by  Fletcher,  from  Shakespeare's  first  sketch  for  a 
conclusion  of  the  somewhat  calamitous  and  cumbrous  underplot,  which  in 
any  case  was  ultimately  left  for  Fletcher  to  expand  into  such  a  shape  and 
bring  by  such  means  to  an  end  as  we  may  safely  swear  that  Shakespeare 
would  never  have  admitted;  then  with  the  entrance  and  ensuing  narrative 
of  Pirithous  we  have  none  but  Shakespeare  before  us  again,  though  it  be 
Shakespeare  undoubtedly  in  the  rough,  and  not  as  he  might  have  chosen  to 
present  himself  after  due  revision,  with  rejection  (we  may  well  suppose) 
of  this  point  and  readjustment  of  that ;  then  upon  the  arrival  of  the  dying 
Arcite  with  his  escort  there  follows  a  grievous  little  gap,  a  flaw  but  pitifully 
patched  by  Fletcher,  whom  we  recognize  at  wellnigh  his  worst  and  weakest 
in  Palamon's  appeal  to  his  kinsman  for  a  last  word,  '  if  his  heart,  his  wor- 
thy, manly  heart'  (an  exact  and  typical  example  of  Fletcher's  tragically 
prosaic  and  prosaically  tragic  dash  of  incurable  commonplace),  'be  yet 
unbroken,"  and  in  the  flaccid  and  futile  answer  which  fails  so  signally  to 
supply  the  place  of  the  most  famous  and  pathetic  passage  in  all  the  master- 


488  THE  TWO   NOBLE  KINSMEN.  [EPILOGUE. 

Lov'd  a  young  handsome  wench,  then,  show  his  face — 

'Tis  strange  if  none  be  here  —  and,  if  he  will 

Against  his  conscience,  let  him  hiss  and  kill 

Our  market !     'Tis  in  vain,  I  see,  to  stay  ye  ; 

Have  at  the  worst  can  come,  then  !     Now,  what  say  ye  ?     lo 

And  yet  mistake  me  not :  I  am  not  bold ; 

We've  no  such  cause.  —  If  the  tale  we  have  told  — 

For  'tis  no  other  —  any  way  content  ye  — 

For  to  that  honest  purpose  it  was  meant  ye  — 

We  have  our  end ;  and  ye  shall  have  ere  long, 

I  dare  say,  many  a  better,  to  prolong 

Your  old  loves  to  us.     We,  and  all  our  might. 

Rest  at  your  service  ;  gentlemen,  good  night !       {^Flourish. 

piece  of  Chaucer ;  a  passage  to  which  even  Shakespeare  could  have  added 
but  some  depth  and  grandeur  of  his  own  giving,  since  neither  he  nor 
Dante's  very  self  nor  any  other  among  the  divinest  of  men  could  have  done 
more  or  better  than  match  it  for  tender  and  true  simplicity  of  words  more 
'  dearly  sweet  and  bitter '  than  the  bitterest  or  sweetest  of  men's  tears. 
Then  after  the  duly  and  properly  conventional  engagement  on  the  parts  of 
Palamon  and  Emilia  respectively  to  devote  the  anniversary  '  to  tears '  and 
'  to  honour,'  the  deeper  tone  returns  for  one  grand  last  time,  grave  at  once 
and  sudden  and  sweet  as  the  full  choral  opening  of  an  anthem:  the  note 
which  none  could  ever  catch  of  Shakespeare's  very  voice  gives  out  the 
peculiar  cadence  that  it  alone  can  give  in  the  modulated  instinct  of  a  solemn 
change  or  shifting  of  the  metrical  emphasis  or  ictus  from  one  to  the  other  of 
two  repeated  words  — 

'  that  nought  could  buy 
Dear  love  but  loss  of  dear  love ! ' 

That  is  a  touch  beyond  the  ear  or  the  hand  of  Fletcher:  a  chord  sounded 
from  Apollo's  own  harp  after  a  somewhat  hoarse  and  reedy  wheeze  from  the 
scrannel-pipe  of  a  lesser  player  than  Pan.  Last  of  all,  in  words  worthy  to 
be  the  latest  left  of  Shakespeare's,  his  great  and  gentle  Theseus  winds  up 
the  heavenly  harmonies  of  his  last  beloved  grand  poem." — Swinburne. 


V. 

THE    DUCHESS   OF    MALFI. 

By  John  Webster. 

Probably  produced  in  1616;  first  printed  in  1623.  The  storj' 
is  in  Bandello's  Novelle,  Part  I,  No.  26;  in  Belleforest's  French 
translation  of  Bandello,  No.  19;  in  Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure, 
Vol.  II,  No.  23 ;  in  Beard's  Theatre  of  God'^s  Judgments,  B.  ii, 
chap.  22;  and  in  Goulart's  Histoires  Adinirables,  Vol.  I,  p.  319. 
Lope  de  Vega  published  in  161 8  El  Mayordomo  de  la  Duquesa 
de  Amalf. 


DEDICATION. 

To  the  Rt,  Hon.  George  Harding,  Baron  Berkeley^  of  Berkeley 
Castle,  ajid  Knight  of  the  Order  of  the  Bath  to  the  illustrious 
Prince  Charles. 

My  Noble  Lord, 

THAT  I  may  present  my  excuse  why,  being  a  stranger  to  your 
lordship,  I  offer  this  poem  to  your  patronage,  I  plead  this 
warrant :  — men  who  never  saw  the  sea  yet  desire  to  behold  that 
regiment  of  waters,  choose  some  eminent  river  to  guide  them 
thither,  and  make  that,  as  it  were,  their  conduct  or  postilion :  by 
the  like  ingenious  means  has  your  fame  arrived  at  my  knowledge, 
receiving  it  from  some  of  worth,  who  both  in  contemplation  and 
practice  owe  to  your  honour  their  clearest  service.  I  do  not 
altogether  look  up  at  your  title ;  the  ancientest  nobility  being 
but  a  relic  of  time  past,  and  the  truest  honour  indeed  being  for  a 
man  to  confer  honour  on  himself,  which  your  learning  strives 
to  propagate,  and  shall  make  you  arrive  at  the  dignity  of  a 
great  example.  I  am  confident  this  work  is  not  unworthy  your 
honour's  perusal ;  for  by  such  poems  as  this  poets  have  kissed 
the  hands  of  great  princes,  and  drawn  their  gentle  eyes  to  look 
down  upon  their  sheets  of  paper  when  the  poets  themselves  were 
bound  up  in  their  winding-sheets.  The  like  courtesy  from  your 
lordship  shall  make  you  live  in  your  grave,  and  laurel  spring  out 
of  it,  when  the  ignorant  scorners  of  the  Muses,  that  like  worms 
in  libraries  seem  to  live  only  to  destroy  learning,  shall  wither 
neglected  and  forgotten.  This  work  and  myself  I  humbly  pre- 
sent to  your  approved  censure,  it  being  the  utmost  of  my  wishes 
to  have  your  honourable  self  my  weighty  and  perspicuous  com- 
ment ;  which  grace  so  done  me  shall  ever  be  acknowledged 
By  your  lordship's  in  all  duty  and  observance, 

John  Webster. 


THE    DUCHESS    OF   MALFI. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Ferdinand,  Duke  of  Calabria. 
The  Cardinal,  his  Brother. 
Antonio  Bologna,  Steward  of  the 

household  to  the  DuCHESS, 
Delio,  his  Friend. 
Daniel  de  Bosola,  Gentleman  of 

the  Horse  to  the  DuCHESS. 
CASTRUCCIO. 

Marquis  of  Pescara. 
Count  Malatesti. 
Roderigo. 


Silvio. 

Grisolan. 

Doctor. 

Several  Madmen,  Pilgrims,  Execu- 
tioners, Officers,  Attendants,  etc. 

Duchess  of  Malfi. 

Cariola,  her  Woman. 

Julia,  Castruccio's  Wife,  and  the 
Cardinal's  Mistress. 

Old  Lady,  Ladies,  and  Children. 


Scene  :  Malfi,  Rome,  a?id  Milan. 


ACT   I. 

Scene  I.  —  The  Presence-chamber  in  the  Duchess'   Palace 
at  Malfi. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Delio.  You  are  welcome  to  your  country,  dear  Antonio ; 
You  have  been  long  in  France,  and  you  return 
A  very  formal  Frenchman  in  your  habit : 
How  do  you  like  the  French  court  ? 

491 


492  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  I. 

Ant.  I  admire  it ; 
In  seeking  to  reduce  both  state  and  people 
To  a  fixed  order,  their  judicious  king 
Begins  at  home  ;  quits  first  his  royal  palace 
Of  flattering  sycophants,  of  dissolute 
And  infamous  persons,  —  which  he  sweetly  terms 
His  master's  master-piece,  the  work  of  Heaven ;  lo 

Considering  duly  that  a  prince's  court 
Is  like  a  common  fountain,  whence  should  flow 
Pure  silver  drops  in  general,  but  if  t  chance 
Some  cursed  example  poison  't  near  the  head, 
Death  and  diseases  through  the  whole  land  spread. 
And  what  is't  makes  this  blessed  government 
But  a  most  provident  council,  who  dare  freely 
Inform  him  the  corruption  of  the  times? 
Though  some  o'  the  court  hold  it  presumption 
To  instruct  princes  what  they  ought  to  do,  20 

It  is  a  noble  duty  to  inform  them 
What  they  ought  to  foresee. —  Here  comes  Bosola, 
The  only  court-gall ;  yet  I  observe  his  railing 
Is  not  for  simple  love  of  piety  : 
Indeed,  he  rails  at  those  things  which  he  wants ; 
Would  be  as  lecherous,  covetous,  or  proud. 
Bloody,  or  envious,  as  any  man. 
If  he  had  means  to  be  so.  —  Here's  the  cardinal. 

Enter  the  Cardinal  and  Bosola.^ 

Bos.  I  do  haunt  you  still. 
Card.  So. 

1  When  this  play  was  first  performed,  about  1616,  R.  Burbadge  played 
the  part  oi  Ferdinand,  H.  Condell  that  of  the  Cardinal,  and  J.  Lowin  that  of 
Bosola.  The  Duchess  was  impersonated  by  the  actor  R.  Sharpe,  as  female 
rdles  were  not  yet  taken  by  women. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  493 

Bos,  I  have  done  you  better  service  than  to  be  shghted 
thus.  Miserable  age,  where  only  the  reward  of  doing  well 
is  the  doing  of  it !  32 

Card.  You  enforce  your  merit  too  much. 

Bos.  I  fell  into  the  galleys  in  your  service ;  where,  for 
two  years  together,  I  wore  two  towels  instead  of  a  shirt, 
with  a  knot  on  the  shoulder  after  the  fashion  of  a  Roman 
mantle.  Slighted  thus  !  I  will  thrive  some  way  :  black-birds 
fatten  best  in  hard  weather ;  why  not  I  in  these  dog-days  ? 

Card.  Would  you  could  become  honest ! 

Bos.  With  all  your  divinity  do  but  direct  me  the  way  to 
it.  I  have  known  many  travel  far  for  it,  and  yet  return  as 
arrant  knaves  as  they  went  forth,  because  they  carried  them- 
selves always  along  with  them.  {Exit  Cardinal.)  Are  you 
gone  ?  Some  fellows,  they  say,  are  possessed  with  the  devil, 
but  this  great  fellow  were  able  to  possess  the  greatest  devil, 
and  make  him  worse.  46 

Ant.  He  hath  denied  thee  some  suit? 

Bos.  He  and  his  brother  are  like  plum-trees  that  grow 
crooked  over  standing-pools ;  they  are  rich  and  o'er-laden 
with  fruit,  but  none  but  crows,  pies,  and  caterpillars  feed  on 
them.  Could  I  be  one  of  their  flattering  panders,  I  would 
hang  on  their  ears  like  a  horseleech,  till  I  were  full,  and  then 
drop  off.  I  pray,  leave  me.  Who  would  rely  upon  these 
miserable  dependencies,  in  expectation  to  be  advanced  to- 
morrow? what  creature  ever  fed  worse  than  hoping  Tanta- 
lus? nor  ever  died  any  man  more  fearfully  than  he  that 
hoped  for  a  pardon.  There  are  rewards  for  hawks  and 
dogs  when  they  have  done  us  service ;  but  for  a  soldier  that 
hazards  his  limbs  in  a  battle,  nothing  but  a  kind  of  geometry 
is  his  last  supportation.  60 

Velio.  Geometry  ! 


494  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  I. 

Bos.  Ay,  to  hang  in  a  fair  pair  of  slings,  take  his  latter 
swing  in  the  world  upon  an  honourable  pair  of  crutches, 
from  hospital  to  hospital.  Fare  ye  well,  sir :  and  yet  do 
not  you  scorn  us ;  for  places  in  the  court  are  but  like  beds 
in  the  hospital,  where  this  man's  head  lies  at  that  man's 
foot,  and  so  lower  and  lower.  \_Exit, 

Delio.  I  knew  this  fellow  seven  years  in  the  galleys 
For  a  notorious  murder ;  and  'twas  thought 
The  cardinal  suborned  it :  he  was  released  70 

By  the  French  general,  Gaston  de  Foix, 
When  he  recovered  Naples. 

A7it.  'Tis  great  pity 
He  should  be  thus  neglected  :  I  have  heard 
He's  very  valiant.     This  foul  melancholy 
Will  poison  all  his  goodness  ;  for,  I'll  tell  you, 
If  too  immoderate  sleep  be  truly  said 
To  be  an  inward  rust  unto  the  soul, 
It  then  doth  follow  want  of  action 
Breeds  all  black  malcontents  ;  and  their  close  rearing. 
Like  moths  in  cloth,  do  hurt  for  want  of  wearing.  80 

Delio.  The  presence  'gins  to  fill :  you  promised  me 
To  make  me  the  partaker  of  the  natures 
Of  some  of  your  great  courtiers. 

Ant.  The  lord  cardinal's, 
And  other  strangers'  that  are  now  in  court? 
I  shall.  —  Here  comes  the  great  Calabrian  duke. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  Castruccio,  Silvio,  Roderigo,  Grisolan, 
and  Attendants. 
Ferd.  Who  took  the  ring  oftenest  ?  ^ 

1  "  The  allusion  is  to  the  sport  called  Running  at  the  Ring,  when  the  tilter, 
riding  at  full  speed,  endeavoured  to  thrust  the  point  of  his  lance  through, 
and  to  bear  away,  the  ring,  which  was  suspended  at  a  particular  height."  — 
Dyce. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  495 

Sil.  Antonio  Bologna,  my  lord. 

Ferd.  Our  sister  duchess*  great-master  of  her  household  ? 
give  him  the  jewel.  —  When  shall  we  leave  this  sportive 
action,  and  fall  to  action  indeed  ?  90 

Cast.  Methinks,  my  lord,  you  should  not  desire  to  go 
to  war  in  person. 

Ferd.  Now  for  some  gravity  :  — why,  my  lord  ? 

CasL  It  is  fitting  a  soldier  arise  to  be  a  prince,  but  not 
necessary  a  prince  descend  to  be  a  captain. 

Ferd.  No? 

Cast.  No,  my  lord ;  he  were  far  better  do  it  by  a  deputy. 

Ferd.  Why  should  he  not  as  well  sleep  or  eat  by  a 
deputy?  this  might  take  idle,  offensive,  and  base  office 
from  him,  whereas  the  other  deprives  him  of  honour.         100 

Cast.  Believe  my  experience,  that  realm  is  never  long 
in  quiet  where  the  ruler  is  a  soldier. 

Ferd.  Thou  toldest  me  thy  wife  could  not  endure  fighting. 

Cast.  True,  my  lord. 

Ferd.  And  of  a  jest  she  broke  of  a  captain  she  met  full 
of  wounds  :  I  have  forgot  it. 

Cast.  She  told  him,  my  lord,  he  was  a  pitiful  fellow,  to 
lie,  like  the  children  of  Ismael,  all  in  tents.^ 

Ferd.  Why,  there's  a  wit  were  able  to  undo  all  the  sur- 
geons o'  the  city ;  for  although  gallants  should  quarrel,  and 
had  drawn  their  weapons,  and  were  ready  to  go  to  it,  yet 
her  persuasions  would  make  them  put  up.  112 

Cast  That  she  would,  my  lord.  —  How  do  you  like  my 
Spanish  gennet  ^  ? 

1  A  play  on  the  word  tent,  which  meant  also  a  roll  of  lint,  or  other  mate- 
rial, used  in  searching  a  wound. 

■■2  A  small  Spanish  horse  (written  also  jennet) .  The  word  is  of  Moorish 
origin,  there  being  a  tribe  of  Zenata  in  Barbary  noted  for  its  cavalry. 


496  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  I. 

Rod.  He  is  all  fire. 

Ferd.  I  am  of  Pliny's  opinion,^  I  think  he  was  begot  by 
the  wind  \  he  runs  as  if  he  were  ballassed^  with  quicksilver. 

Silvio.  True,  my  lord,  he  reels  from  the  tilt  often. 

Rod.   Gris.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Ferd.  Why  do  you  laugh?  methinks  you  that  are  cour- 
tiers should  be  my  touchwood,  take  fire  when  I  give  fire ; 
that  is,  laugh  but  when  I  laugh,  were  the  subject  never  so 
witty.  123 

Cast.  True,  my  lord  :  I  myself  have  heard  a  very  good 
jest,  and  have  scorned  to  seem  to  have  so  silly  a  wit  as  to 
understand  it. 

Ferd.  But  I  can  laugh  at  your  fool,  my  lord. 

Cast.  He  cannot  speak,  you  know,  but  he  makes  faces : 
my  lady  cannot  abide  him. 

Ferd.  No? 

Cast.  Nor  endure  to  be  in  merry  company ;  for  she  says 
too  much  laughing,  and  too  much  company,  fills  her  too 
full  of  the  wrinkle.  133 

Ferd.  I  would,  then,  have  a  mathematical  instrument 
made  for  her  face,  that  she  might  not  laugh  out  of  com- 
pass. —  I  shall  shortly  visit  you  at  Milan,  Lord  Silvio. 

Silvio.  Your  grace  shall  arrive  most  welcome. 

Ferd.  You  are  a  good  horseman,  Antonio :  you  have 
excellent  riders  in  France  :  what  do  you  think  of  good 
horsemanship  ? 

Ant.  Nobly,  my  lord  :  as  out  of  the  Grecian  horse  issued 
many  famous  princes,  so  out  of  brave  horsemanship  arise 

1  See  Pliuy,  Nat.  Hist,  viii,  67,  where  he  says  that  in  Lusitania  there  was 
a  breed  of  fleet  horses  begotten  by  the  wind  Favonius ;  they  never  lived 
more  than  three  years. 

2  Ballasted, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  497 

the  first  sparks  of  growing  resolution,  that  raise  the  mind 
to  noble  action. 

Ferd.  You  have  bespoke  it  worthily. 

Silvio.  Your  brother,  the  lord  cardinal,  and  sister  duchess. 

Re-enter  Cardinal,  with  Duchess,  Cariola,  and  Julia. 

Card.  Are  the  galleys  come  about? 

Gris.  They  are,  my  lord.  148 

Ferd.  Here's  the  Lord  Silvio  is  come  to  take  his  leave. 

Delio.  Now,    Sir,    your   promise;   what's    that   cardinal? 
I  mean  his  temper?  they  say  he's  a  brave  fellow, 
Will  play  his  five  thousand  crowns  at  tennis,  dance, 
Court  ladies,  and  one  that  hath  fought  single  combats. 

Ant.  Some  such  flashes  superficially  hang  on  him  for 
form  ;  but  observe  his  inward  character  :  he  is  a  melancholy 
churchman ;  the  spring  in  his  face  is  nothing  but  the  engen- 
dering of  toads ;  where  he  is  jealous  of  any  man,  he  lays 
worse  plots  for  them  than  ever  was  imposed  on  Hercules,  for 
he  strews  in  his  way  flatterers,  panders,  intelligencers,  atheists, 
and  a  thousand  such  political  monsters.  He  should  have 
been  Pope ;  but  instead  of  coming  to  it  by  the  primitive 
decency  of  the  church,  he  did  bestow  bribes  so  largely  and 
so  impudently  as  if  he  would  have  carried  it  away  without 
Heaven's  knowledge.     Some  good  he  hath  done  —  164 

Delio.  You   have    given   too    much  of  him.     What's  his 
brother? 

Ant.  The    duke    there?  a  most   perverse    and    turbulent 
nature  : 
What  appears  in  him  mirth  is  merely  outside ; 
If  he  laugh  heartily,  it  is  to  laugh 
All  honesty  out  of  fashion. 

Delio.  Twins? 


498  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  i. 

Ant  In  quality. 
He  speaks  with  others'  tongues,  and  hears  men's  suits        170 
With  others'  ears ;  will  seem  to  sleep  o'  the  bench 
Only  to  entrap  offenders  in  their  answers ; 
Dooms  men  to  death  by  information ; 
Rewards  by  hearsay, 

Delio.  Then  the  law  to  him 
Is  like  a  foul  black  cobweb  to  a  spider,  — 
He  makes  it  his  dweUing  and  a  prison 
To  entangle  those  shall  feed  him. 

Ant.  Most  true  : 
He  never  pays  debts  unless  they  be  shrewd  turns, 
And  those  he  will  confess  that  he  doth  owe. 
Last,  for  his  brother  there,  the  cardinal,  180 

They  that  do  flatter  him  most  say  oracles 
Hang  at  his  lips  ;  and  verily  I  believe  them. 
For  the  devil  speaks  in  them. 
But  for  their  sister,  the  right  noble  duchess, 
You  never  fixed  your  eye  on  three  fair  medals 
Cast  in  one  figure,  of  so  different  temper. 
For  her  discourse,  it  is  so  full  of  rapture. 
You  only  will  begin  then  to  be  sorry 
When  she  doth  end  her  speech,  and  wish,  in  wonder, 
She  held  it  less  vain-glory  to  talk  much,  190 

Than  your  penance  to  hear  her :  whilst  she  speaks, 
She  throws  upon  a  man  so  sweet  a  look. 
That  it  were  able  to  raise  one  to  a  galliard  ^ 
That  lay  in  a  dead  palsy,  and  to  dote 
On  that  sweet  countenance ;  but  in  that  look 
There  speaketh  so  divine  a  continence 
As  cuts  off  all  lascivious  and  vain  hope. 

1  A  lively  Spanish  dance.    So  Shakespeare,  Twelfth  Night,  i,  3. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI,  499 

Her  days  are  practised  in  such  noble  virtue. 

That  sure  her  nights,  nay,  more,  her  very  sleeps. 

Are  more  in  Heaven  than  other  ladies'  shrifts.  200 

Let  all  sweet  ladies  break  their  flattering  glasses, 

And  dress  themselves  in  her. 

Delio.  Fie,  Antonio, 
You  play  the  wire- drawer  with  her  commendations. 

Ant.  I'll  case  the  picture  up  :  only  thus  much ; 
All  her  particular  worth  grows  to  this  sum,  — 
She  stains  the  time  past,  lights  the  time  to  come. 

Cari.  You  must  attend  my  lady  in  the  gallery. 
Some  half  an  hour  hence. 

Ant.  I  shall.  {^Exeunt  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Ferd.  Sister,  I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

Diich.  To  me,  sir? 

Ferd.  A  gentleman  here,  Daniel  de  Bosola, 
One  that  was  in  the  galleys  — 

Duch.  Yes,  I  know  him.  210 

Ferd.  A  worthy  fellow  he  is  :  pray,  let  me  entreat  for 
The  provisorship  of  your  horse. 

Duch.  Your  knowledge  of  him 
Commends  him  and  prefers  him. 

Ferd.  Call  him  hither.  \^Exit  Attendant. 

We  are  now  upon  parting.     Good  Lord  Silvio, 
Do  us  commend  to  all  our  noble  friends 
At  the  leaguer. 

Silvio.  Sir,  I  shall. 

Fe7-d.  You  are  for  Milan? 

Silvio.  I  am. 

Duch.  Bring  the  caroches.^     We'll  bring  you  down  to  the 
haven. 

1  Coaches  (Italian  carrozzd). 


500  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  I. 

[^Exeunt  Duchess,  Silvio,  Castruccio,  Roderigo, 
Grisolan,  Cariola,  Julia,  and  Attendants. 

Card.  Be  sure  you  entertain  that  Bosola 
For  your  intelligence  :  I  would  not  be  seen  in't ; 
And  therefore  many  times  I  have  slighted  him  220 

When  he  did  court  our  furtherance,  as  this  morning. 

Ferd.  Antonio,  the  great-master  of  her  household, 
Had  been  far  fitter. 

Card.  You  are  deceived  in  him  : 
His  nature  is  too  honest  for  such  business.  — 
He  comes  :  I'll  leave  you.  \_Exit. 

Re-enter  Bosola. 

Bos.  I  was  lured  to  you. 

Ferd.  My  brother,  here,  the  cardinal  could  never 
Abide  you. 

Bos.  Never  since  he  was  in  my  debt. 

Ferd.  May  be  some  oblique  character  in  your  face 
Made  him  suspect  you. 

Bos.  Doth  he  study  physiognomy? 
He  did  suspect  me  wrongfully. 

Ferd.  For  that 
You  must  give  great  men  leave  to  take  their  times.  230 

Distrust  doth  cause  us  seldom  be  deceived  : 
You  see  the  oft  shaking  of  the  cedar-tree 
Fastens  it  more  at  root. 

Bos.  Yet,  take  heed ; 
For  to  suspect  a  friend  unworthily 
Instructs  him  the  next  way  to  suspect  you, 
And  prompts  him  to  deceive  you. 

Ferd.  There's  gold. 

Bos.  So: 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  501 

What  follows  ?  never  rained  such  showers  as  these 
Without  thunderbolts  i'  the  tail  of  them  :  whose  throat  must 
I  cut? 

Ferd.  Your  inclination  to  shed  blood  rides  post 
Before  my  occasion  to  use  you.     I  gave  you  that  240 

To  live  i'  the  court  here,  and  observe  the  duchess ; 
To  note  all  the  particulars  of  her  haviour, 
What  suitors  do  sohcit  her  for  marriage, 
And  whom  she  best  affects.     She's  a  young  widow : 
I  would  not  have  her  marry  again. 

Bos.  No,  sir? 

Ferd.  Do  not  you  ask  the  reason ;  but  be  satisfied 
I  say  I  would  not. 

Bos.  It  seems  you  would  create  me 
One  of  your  familiars. 

Ferd.  Familiar  !  what's  that  ? 

Bos.  Why,  a  very  quaint  invisible  devil  in  flesh, 
An  intelligencer. 

Ferd.  Such  a  kind  of  thriving  thing  250 

I  would  wish  thee  ;  and  ere  long  thou  mayest  arrive 
At  a  higher  place  by't. 

Bos.  Take  your  devils, 
Which  hell  calls  angels ;  these  cursed  gifts  would  make 
You  a  corrupter,  me  an  impudent  traitor ; 
And  should  I  take  these,  they'd  take  me  to  hell. 

Ferd.  Sir,  I'll  take  nothing  from  you  that  I  have  given  : 
There  is  a  place  that  I  procured  for  you 
This  morning,  the  provisorship  o'  the  horse ; 
Have  you  heard  on't? 

Bos.  No. 

Ferd.  'Tis  yours  :  is't  not  worth  thanks  ?  260 

Bos.  I  would  have  you  curse  yourself  now,  that  your  bounty 


502  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  I. 

(Which  makes  men  truly  noble)  e'er  should  make  me 
A  villain.     O,  that  to  avoid  ingratitude 
For  the  good  deed  you  have  done  me,  I  must  do 
All  the  ill  man  can  invent !     Thus  the  devil 
Candies  all  sins  o'er ;  and  what  Heaven  terms  vile, 
That  names  he  complimental.^ 

Ferd.  Be  yourself; 
Keep  your  old  garb  of  melancholy ;  'twill  express 
You  envy  those  that  stand  above  your  reach, 
Yet  strive  not  to  come  near  'em  :  this  will  gain  270 

Access  to  private  lodgings,  where  yourself 
May,  like  a  poHtic  dormouse  — 

Bos.  As  I  have  seen  some 
Feed  in  a  lord's  dish,  half  asleep,  not  seeming 
To  listen  to  any  talk ;  and  yet  these  rogues 
Have  cut  his  throat  in  a  dream.     What's  my  place  ? 
The  provisorship  o'  the  horse  ?     I  am  your  creature. 

Ferd.  Away  ! 

Bos.  Let  good  men,  for  good  deeds,  covet  good  fame, 
Since  place  and  riches  oft  are  bribes  of  shame : 
Sometimes  the  devil  doth  preach.  {Exit 

Re-enter  Duchess,  Cardinal,  and  Cariola. 

Card.  We  are  to  part  from  you ;  and  your  own  discretion 
Must  now  be  your  director. 

Ferd.  You  are  a  widow  :  281 

You  know  already  what  man  is ;  and  therefore 
Let  not  youth,  high  promotion,  eloquence  — 

Card.  No, 
Nor  any  thing  without  the  addition,  honour, 
Sway  your  high  blood. 

1  Ornamental. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  503 

Ferd.  Marry  !  they  are  most  luxurious  ^ 
Will  wed  twice. 

Card.  O,  fie  ! 

Ferd.  Their  livers  are  more  spotted 
Than  Laban's  sheep. 

Duch.  Diamonds  are  of  most  value, 
They  say,  that  have  passed  through  most  jewellers'  hands. 
Will  you  hear  me?  290 

I'll  never  marry. 

Card.  So  most  widows  say ; 
But  commonly  that  motion  lasts  no  longer 
Than  the  turning  of  an  hour-glass  :  the  funeral  sermon 
And  it  end  both  together. 

Ferd.  Now  hear  me  : 
You  live  in  a  rank  pasture,  here,  i'  the  court ; 
There  is  a  kind  of  honey-dew  that's  deadly ; 
'Twill  poison  your  fame  ;  look  to't ;  be  not  cunning ; 
For  they  whose  faces  do  belie  their  hearts 
Are  witches  ere  they  arrive  at  twenty  years, 
Ay,  and  give  the  devil  suck.  300 

Duch.  This  is  terrible  good  counsel. 

Ferd.  Hypocrisy  is  woven  of  a  fine  small  thread, 
Subtler  than  Vulcan's  engine  ^ :  yet,  believe 't. 
Your  darkest  actions,  nay,  your  privat'st  thoughts. 
Will  come  to  Hght. 

Card.  You  may  flatter  yourself, 
And  take  your  own  choice  ;  privately  be  married 
Under  the  eaves  of  night  — 

Ferd.  Think't  the  best  voyage 
That  e'er  you  made  ;  like  the  irregular  crab, 

1  Incontinent ;  query  uxorious  ? 

2  The  net  in  which  he  caught  Mars  and  Venus, 


504  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  I. 

Which,  though't  goes  backward,  thinks  that  it  goes  right 
Because  it  goes  its  own  way ;  but  observe, 
Such  weddings  may  more  properly  be  said  310 

To  be  executed  than  celebrated. 

Card.  The  marriage  night 
Is  the  entrance  into  some  prison. 

Ferd.  And  those  joys. 
Those  lustful  pleasures,  are  like  heavy  sleeps 
Which  do  fore-run  man's  mischief. 

Card.  Fare  you  well. 
Wisdom  begins  at  the  end  :  remember  it.  \_Exit. 

Dtich.  I  think  this  speech  between  you  both  was  studied. 
It  came  so  roundly  off. 

Ferd.  You  are  my  sister ; 
This  was  my  father's  poniard,  do  you  see  ? 
I'd  be  loth  to  see't  look  rusty,  'cause  'twas  his.  320 

I  would  have  you  give  o'er  those  chargeable  revels : 
A  visor  and  a  mask  are  whispering-rooms 
That  were  never  built  for  goodness  ;  —  fare  ye  well ;  — 
And  women  like  variety  of  courtship  : 
What  cannot  a  neat  knave  with  a  smooth  tale 
Make  a  woman  beheve?     Farewell,  lusty  widow.  \_Exit 

Duch.  Shall  this  move  me?     If  all  my  royal  kindred 
Lay  in  my  way  unto  this  marriage, 
I'd  make  them  my  low  footsteps  :  and  even  now. 
Even  in  this  hate,  as  men  in  some  great  battles,  330 

By  apprehending  danger,  have  achieved 
Almost  impossible  actions  (I  have  heard  soldiers  say  so). 
So  I  through  frights  and  threatenings  will  assay 
This  dangerous  venture.     Let  old  wives  report 
I  winked  and  chose  a  husband.  —  Cariola, 
To  thy  known  secrecy  I  have  given  up 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  505 

More  than  my  life  —  my  fame. 

Cari.  Both  shall  be  safe  ; 
For  I'll  conceal  this  secret  from  the  world 
As  warily  as  those  that  trade  in  poison 
Keep  poison  from  their  children. 

Duch.  Thy  protestation  340 

Is  ingenious  ^  and  hearty  :  I  believe  it. 
Is  Antonio  come? 

Cari.  He  attends  you. 

Duch.  Good,  dear  soul, 
Leave  me  ;  but  place  thyself  behind  the  arras. 
Where  thou  mayst  overhear  us.     Wish  me  good  speed ; 
For  I  am  going  into  a  wilderness 
Where  I  shall  find  nor  path  nor  friendly  clue 
To  be  my  guide.  [Cariola  goes  behind  the  arras. 

Enter  Antonio.^ 

I  sent  for  you  :  sit  down ; 
Take  pen  and  ink,  and  write  :  are  you  ready  ? 

Ant.  Yes. 

Duch.  What  did  I  say? 

Ant.  That  I  should  write  somewhat.  350 

Dtich.  O,  I  remember. 
After  these  triumphs  and  this  large  expense, 
It's  fit,  like  thrifty  husbands,  we  inquire 
What's  laid  up  for  to-morrow. 

Ant.  So  please  your  beauteous  excellence. 

Duch.  Beauteous  ! 
Indeed,  I  thank  you  :   I  look  young  for  your  sake  ; 

1  Ingenuous. 

2  "As  previously  Antonio  has  been  told  that  he  must  attend  the  Duchess 
in  the  gallery,  it  would  seem  that  here  the  audience  were  to  imagine  that  a 
change  of  scene  had  taken  place."  —  Dyce. 


5o6  THE    DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  I. 

You  have  ta'en  my  cares  upon  you. 

Ant.  I'll  fetch  your  grace 
The  particulars  of  your  revenue  and  expense. 

Duch.  O,  you  are 
An  upright  treasurer  :  but  you  mistook ;  360 

For  when  I  said  I  meant  to  make  inquiry 
What's  laid  up  for  to-morrow,  I  did  mean 
What's  laid  up  yonder  for  me. 

Ant.  Where? 

Duch.  In  Heaven. 
I  am  making  my  will  (as  'tis  fit  princes  should, 
In  perfect  memory),  and,  I  pray,  sir,  tell  me, 
Were  not  one  better  make  it  smiling,  thus, 
Than  in  deep  groans  and  terrible  ghastly  looks. 
As  if  the  gifts  we  parted  with  procured 
That  violent  distraction  ^  ? 

Ant.  O,  much  better. 

Duch.  If  I  had  a  husband  now,  this  care  were  quit :      370 
But  I  intend  to  make  you  overseer. 
What  good  deed  shall  we  first  remember?  say. 

Ant.  Begin  with  that  first  good  deed  began  i'  the  world 
After  man's  creation,  the  sacrament  of  marriage  : 
I'd  have  you  first  provide  for  a  good  husband ; 
Give  him  all. 

Duch.  All ! 

Ant.  Yes,  your  excellent  self. 

Duch.  In  a  winding-sheet? 

Ant.  In  a  couple. 

Duch.  Saint  Winifred,^  that  were  a  strange  will ! 

1  The  Quarto  of  1640  has  destruction. 

2  A  noble  British  maiden  of  the  seventh  century.     Prince  Cradocus  fell 
in  love  with  her;  but  as  she  would  not  accept  his  suit,  he  cut  off  her  head, 


SCENE  I.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  507 

AnL  'Twere  stranger  if  there  were  no  will  in  you 
To  marry  again. 

Duch.  What  do  you  think  of  marriage  ?  380 

Ant.  I  take't,  as  those  that  deny  purgatory, 
It  locally  contains  or  Heaven  or  hell ; 
There's  no  third  place  in't. 

Duch.  How  do  you  affect  it? 

Ant.  My  banishment,  feeding  my  melancholy, 
Would  often  reason  thus. 

Duch.  Pray,  let's  hear  it. 

Ant.  Say  a  man  never  marry,  nor  have  children, 
What  takes  that  from  him  ?  only  the  bare  name 
Of  being  a  father,  or  the  weak  delight 
To  see  the  httle  wanton  ride  a-cock-horse 
Upon  a  painted  stick,  or  hear  him  chatter  390 

Like  a  taught  starling. 

Duch.  Fie,  fie,  what's  all  this? 
One  of  your  eyes  is  blood-shot ;  use  my  ring  to't. 
They  say  'tis  very  sovereign  :   'twas  my  wedding-ring. 
And  I  did  vow  never  to  part  with  it 
But  to  my  second  husband. 

Ant.  You  have  parted  with  it  now. 

Duch.  Yes,  to  help  your  eye-sight. 

Ant.  You  have  made  me  stark  blind. 

Duch.  How? 

which  rolled  to  the  foot  of  a  hill :  stopping  there,  a  spring  gushed  up.  St. 
Bueno  picked  up  the  head,  put  it  back  on  her  shoulders  :  Winifred  came  to 
life,  and  lived  fifteen  years  thereafter.  The  fame  of  her  holiness  spread  :  a 
shrine  was  built  at  the  spring,  and  during  many  centuries  that  shrine,  Holy- 
well, in  Flintshire,  was  the  resort  of  pilgrims.  Her  day  in  the  Saints'  Calen- 
dar is  November  3.  Her  violent  lover  Cradocus  was  swallowed  up  by  the 
earth's  opening  immediately  after  he  severed  her  head  from  its  trunk.  See 
Chambers's  Book  of  Days,  ii,  6. 


5o8  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  i. 

Ant.  There  is  a  saucy  and  ambitious  devil 
Is  dancing  in  this  circle. 

Duch.  Remove  him. 

Ant.  How?  400 

Duch.  There  needs  small  conjuration,  when  your  finger 
May  do  it :  thus  ;  is  it  fit  ? 

\_She  puts  the  ring  upon  his  finger :  he  kneels. 

Ant.  What  said  you? 

Duch.  Sir, 
This  goodly  roof  of  yours  is  too  low  built ; 
I  cannot  stand  upright  in't  nor  discourse, 
Without  I  raise  it  higher  :  raise  yourself; 
Or,  if  you  please,  my  hand  to  help  you  :  so.       \^Raises  him. 

Ant.  Ambition,  madam,  is  a  great  man's  madness, 
That  is  not  kept  in  chains  and  close-pent  rooms. 
But  in  fair  lightsome  lodgings,  and  is  girt 
With  the  wild  noise  of  prattling  visitants,  410 

Which  makes  it  lunatic  beyond  all  cure. 
Conceive  not  I  am  so  stupid  but  I  aim 
Whereto  your  favours  tend  :  but  he's  a  fool 
That,  being  a-cold,  would  thrust  his  hands  i'  the  fire 
To  warm  them. 

Duch.  So,  now  the  ground's  broke. 
You  may  discover  what  a  wealthy  mine 
I  make  you  lord  of. 

Ant.  O  my  unworthiness  ! 

Duch.  You  were  ill  to  sell  yourself: 
This  darkening  of  your  worth  is  not  like  that 
Which  tradesmen  use  i'  the  city  ;  their  false  lights  4?o 

Are  to  rid  bad  wares  of:  and  I  must  tell  you, 
If  you  will  know  where  breathes  a  complete  man 
(I  speak  it  without  flattery),  turn  your  eyes, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  509 

And  progress  through  yourself. 

Ant.  Were  there  nor  Heaven  nor  hell, 
I  should  be  honest :  I  have  long  served  virtue, 
And  ne'er  ta'en  wages  of  her. 

Duch.  Now  she  pays  it. 
The  misery  of  us  that  are  born  great ! 
We  are  forced  to  woo,  because  none  dare  woo  us ; 
And  as  a  tyrant  doubles  with  his  words,  430 

And  fearfully  equivocates,  so  we 
Are  forced  to  express  our  violent  passions 
In  riddles  and  in  dreams,  and  leave  the  path 
Of  simple  virtue,  which  was  never  made 
To  seem  the  thing  it  is  not.     Go,  go  brag 
You  have  left  me  heartless ;  mine  is  in  your  bosom  : 
I  hope  'twill  multiply  love  there.     You  do  tremble  : 
Make  not  your  heart  so  dead  a  piece  of  flesh. 
To  fear  more  than  to  love  me.     Sir,  be  confident : 
What  is't  distracts  you  ?     This  is  flesh  and  blood,  sir  ;        440 
'Tis  not  the  figure  cut  in  alabaster 
Kneels  at  my  husband's  tomb.     Awake,  awake,  man  ! 
I  do  here  put  ofl"  all  vain  ceremony. 
And  only  do  appear  to  you  a  young  widow 
That  claims  you  for  her  husband,  and,  like  a  widow, 
I  use  but  half  a  blush  in't.^ 

Ant.  Truth  speak  for  me  ; 
I  will  remain  the  constant  sanctuary 
Of  your  good  name. 


1  "  The  passion  of  the  Duchess  for  Antonio,  a  subject  most  difficult  to 
treat,  is  managed  with  infinite  dehcacy :  in  a  situation  of  great  peril  for  the 
author,  she  condescends  without  being  degraded,  declares  to  her  dependant 
that  he  is  the  husband  of  her  choice  without  losing  anything  of  dignity  and 
respect,  and  seems  only  to  exercise  the  privilege  of  rank  in  raising  merit 


5IO  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  I. 

Duch.  I  thank  you,  gentle  love  : 
And  'cause  you  shall  not  come  to  me  in  debt, 
Being  now  my  steward,  here  upon  your  lips  450 

I  sign  your  Quietus  est.    This  you  should  have  begged  now  : 
I  have  seen  children  oft  eat  sweetmeats  thus, 
As  fearful  to  devour  them  too  soon. 

Ant.  But  for  your  brothers  ? 

Duch.  Do  not  think  of  them  : 
All  discord  without  this  circumference 
Is  only  to  be  pitied,  and  not  feared  : 
Yet,  should  they  know  it,  time  will  easily 
Scatter  the  tempest. 

Ant.  These  words  should  be  mine, 
And  all  the  parts  you  have  spoke,  if  some  part  of  it 
Would  not  have  savoured  flattery. 

Duch.  Kneel.  [Cariola  comes  from  behiiid  the  arras. 

Ant.  Ha  !  460 

Duch.  Be  not  amazed  ;  this  woman's  of  my  counsel : 
I  have  heard  lawyers  say,  a  contract  in  a  chamber 
Per  verba  presenti  is  absolute  marriage. 

\_She  and  Antonio  kneel. 
Bless,  Heaven,  this  sacred  gordian,  which  let  violence 
Never  untwine  ! 

Ant.  And  may  our  sweet  affections,  like  the  spheres, 
Be  still  in  motion  ! 

Duch.  Quickening,  and  make 
The  like  soft  music  ! 


from  obscurity."  —  Dyce.  It  may  be  added  that  neither  in  the  English  Dra- 
ma nor  in  English  Fiction  shall  we  find  a  scene  in  which  womanly  dig- 
nity and  womanly  love  are  exhibited  more  naturally  than  in  this.  A  noble 
woman,  as  Webster  here  depicts  her,  is  neither  the  unreal,  ethereal  creature 
of  the  Age  of  Chivalry,  nor  is  she  the  toy  or  servant  of  man. 


SCENE  I.J  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  51I 

Ant  That  we  may  imitate  the  loving  palms/ 
Best  emblem  of  a  peaceful  marriage,  470 

That  never  bore  fruit,  divided  ! 

Duch.  What  can  the  church  force  more? 

Ant.  That  fortune  may  not  know  an  accident, 
Either  of  joy  or  sorrow,  to  divide 
Our  fixed  wishes  ! 

Duch.  How  can  the  church  build  faster? 
We  now  are  man  and  wife,  and  'tis  the  church 
That  must  but  echo  this.  —  Maid,  stand  apart : 
I  now  am  blind. 

Ant.  What's  your  conceit  in  this  ? 

Duch.  I  would  have  you  lead  your  fortune  by  the  hand 
Unto  your  marriage  bed  :  480 

(You  speak  in  me  this,  for  we  now  are  one  :) 
We'll  only  He,  and  talk  together,  and  plot 
To  appease  my  humourous  kindred  ;  and  if  you  please, 
Like  the  old  tale  in  Alexander  and  Lodowick,^ 
Lay  a  naked  sword  between  us,  keep  us  chaste. 
O,  let  me  shrowd  my  blushes  in  your  bosom. 
Since  'tis  the  treasury  of  all  my  secrets  ! 

\_Exeunt  Duchess  and  Antonio. 

1  Cf.  T.  Campbell,  in  his  poem  "  The  Dead  Eagle." 

"  The  village  planted  near  the  Maraboot's 
Round  roof  has  aye  its  feathery  palm  trees 
Pair'd,  for  in  solitude  they  bear  no  fruits." 

2  "  The  Two  Faithful  Friends,  the  pleasant  History  of  Alexander  and  Lod- 
wicke,  who  were  so  like  one  another,  that  none  could  know  thein  asunder  ; 
wherein  is  declared  how  Lodwicke  married  the  Princesse  of  Hungaria,  in 
Alexander" s  name,  and  how  each  night  he  layd  a  naked  sword  betweene  him 
and  the  Princesse,  because  he  would  not  wrong  his  friend,  is  reprinted  from 
the  Pepys  collection  in  Evans's  Old  Ballads.  There  was  also  a  play  written 
by  Martin  Slaughter,  called  Alexander  and  Lodowick,  the  acting  of  which  is 
several  times  mentioned  in  Henslowe's  Diary ;  but  it  was  never  published." 
—  Dyce. 


512  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  II. 

Cari.  Whether  the  spirit  of  greatness  or  of  woman 
Reign  most  in  her,  I  know  not ;  but  it  shows 
A  fearful  madness  :  I  owe  her  much  of  pity.         {^Exit.     490 


ACT   II. 

Scene  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of  the  Duchess. 
Enter  Bosola  and  Castruccio. 

Bos.  You  say  you  would  fain  be  taken  for  an  eminent 
courtier  ? 

Cast.  'Tis  the  very  main  of  my  ambition. 

Bos.  Let  me  see  :  you  have  a  reasonable  good  face  for't 
already,  and  your  night-cap  expresses  your  ears  sufficient 
largely.  I  would  have  you  learn  to  twirl  the  strings  of  your 
band  with  a  good  grace,  and  in  a  set  speech,  at  the  end  of 
every  sentence,  to  hum  three  or  four  times,  or  blow  your 
nose  till  it  smart  again,  to  recover  your  memory.  When 
you  come  to  be  a  president  in  criminal  causes,  if  you  smile 
upon  a  prisoner,  hang  him ;  but  if  you  frown  upon  him  and 
threaten  him,  let  him  be  sure  to  scape  the  gallows.  12 

Cast.  I  would  be  a  very  merry  president. 

Bos.  Do  not  sup  o'  nights ;  'twill  beget  you  an  admirable 
wit. 

Cast.  Rather  it  would  make  me  have  a  good  stomach  to 
quarrel ;  for  they  say,  your  roaring  boys  ^  eat  meat  seldom, 
and  that  makes  them  so  valiant.  But  how  shall  I  know 
whether  the  people  take  me  for  an  eminent  fellow? 

Bos.  I  will  teach  you  a  trick  to  know  it :  give  out  you  lie 

1  Cant  term  for  insolent  bullies  and  vaporers  of  the  time. 


SCENE  I.J  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  513 

a-dying,  and  if  you  hear  the  common  people  curse  you,  be 
sure  you  are  taken  for  one  of  the  prime  night-caps.^  22 

Enter  an  Old  Lady. 

You  come  from  painting  now. 

Old  Lady.  From  what  ? 

Bos.  Why,  from  your  scurvy  face-physic.  To  behold 
thee  not  painted  incHnes  somewhat  near  a  miracle ;  these 
in  thy  face  here  were  deep  ruts  and  foul  sloughs  the  last 
progress.^  There  was  a  lady  in  France  that,  having  had  the 
small-pox,  flayed  the  skin  off  her  face  to  make  it  more 
level ;  and  whereas  before  she  looked  like  a  nutmeg-grater, 
after  she  resembled  an  abortive  hedgehog.  31 

Old  Lady.  Do  you  call  this  painting  ? 

Bos.  No,  no,  but  you  call  it  careening  ^  of  an  old  mor- 
phewed  '*  lady  to  make  her  disembogue  ^  again :  there's 
rough- cast  phrase  to  your  plastic.^ 

Old  Lady.  It  seems  you  are  well  acquainted  with  my 
closet. 

Bos.  One  would  suspect  it  for  a  shop  of  witchcraft,  to 
find  in  it  the  fat  of  serpents,  spawn  of  snakes,  Jews'  spittle, 
and  their  young  children's  ordure ;  and  all  these  for  the 
face.  I  would  sooner  eat  a  dead  pigeon  taken  from  the 
soles  of  the  feet  of  one  sick  of  the  plague  than  kiss  one  of 
you  fasting.     Here  are  two  of  you,  whose  sin  of  your  youth 

1  Another  cant  term,  used  by  Webster  in  The  Devil's  Law  Case,  ii,  i:  — 

"  Among  a  shoal  or  swarm  of  reeking  night-caps." 

2  State  journey  of  the  English  sovereign  into  the  provinces. 

8  To  lay  a  ship  on  its  side,  in  order  to  calk  and  clean  the  hull. 

•*  Morphew :  a  scurf  or  cutaneous  disease  on  the  face. 

fi  Literally,  flow  into  the  sea  (as  a  river).  The  meaning  of  the  speech  is  : 
You  old  women  paint  your  face  and  hide  your  wrinkles  in  order  that  you 
may  launch  out  for  new  conquests.  6  Moulding. 


5^4 


THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  Tact  ii. 


is  the  very  patrimony  of  the  physician ;  makes  him  renew 

his  foot-cloth^  with  the  spring,  and  change  his  high-priced 

courtezan  with  the  fall  of  the  leaf.     I  do  wonder  you  do 

not  loathe  yourselves.     Observe  my  meditation  now.  47 

What  thing  is  in  this  outward  form  of  man 

To  be  beloved?     We  account  it  ominous, 

If  nature  do  produce  a  colt,  or  lamb, 

A  fawn  or  goat,  in  any  limb  resembling 

A  man,  and  fly  from't  as  a  prodigy : 

Man  stands  amazed  to  see  his  deformity 

In  any  other  creature  but  himself. 

But  in  our  own  flesh,  though  we  bear  diseases 

Which  have  their  true  names  only  ta'en  from  beasts,  — 

As  the  most  ulcerous  wolf  and  swinish  measle,  — 

Though  we  are  eaten  up  of  lice  and  worms, 

And  though  continually  we  bear  about  us 

A  rotten  and  dead  body,  we  dehght  60 

To  hide  it  in  rich  tissue :  all  our  fear, 

Nay,  all  our  terror,  is  lest  our  physician 

Should  put  us  in  the  ground  to  be  made  sweet.  — 

Your  wife's  gone  to  Rome  :  you  two  couple,  and  get  you  to 

the  wells  at  Lucca  to  recover  your  aches.     I  have    other 

work  on  foot.  \_Exeunt  Castruccio  and  Old  Lady. 

I  observe  our  duchess 

Is  sick  a-days,  she  pukes,  her  stomach  seethes, 

The  fins  of  her  eye-Uds  look  most  teeming  blue, 

She  wanes  i'  the  cheek,  and  waxes  fat  i'  the  flank,  70 

And,  contrary  to  our  Itahan  fashion, 

Wears  a  loose-bodied  gown  :  there's  somewhat  in't. 

I  have  a  trick  may  chance  discover  it, 

A  pretty  one  ;  I  have  bought  some  apricocks,^ 

1  Enables  him  to  buy  new  housings  for  his  horse.  2  Apricots. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  515 

The  first  our  spring  yields. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Delio.  And  so  long  since  married  ! 
You  amaze  me. 

Ant.  Let  me  seal  your  lips  for  ever  : 
For,  did  I  think  that  any  thing  but  the  air 
Could  carry  these  words  from  you,  I  should  wish 
You  had  no  breath  at  all.  —  Now,  sir,  in  your  contemplation? 
You  are  studying  to  become  a  great  wise  fellow.  80 

Bos.  O,  sir,  the  opinion  of  wisdom  is  a  foul  tetter  that 
runs  all  over  a  man's  body  :  ^  if  simpHcity  direct  us  to  have 
no  evil,  it  directs  us  to  a  happy  being;  for  the  subtlest 
folly  proceeds  from  the  subtlest  wisdom :  let  me  be  simply 
honest. 

Ant.  I  do  understand  your  inside. 

Bos.  Do  you  so? 

Ant.  Because  you  would  not  seem  to  appear  to  the  world 
Puffed  up  with  your  preferment,  you  continue 
This  out-of-fashion  melancholy  :  leave  it,  leave  it.  90 

Bos.  Give  me  leave  to  be  honest  in  any  phrase,  in  any 
compliment  whatsoever.  Shall  I  confess  myself  to  you? 
I  look  no  higher  than  I  can  reach :  they  are  the  gods  that 
must  ride  on  winged  horses.  A  lawyer's  mule  of  a  slow 
pace  will  both  suit  my  disposition  and  business ;  for,  mark 
me,  when  a  man's  mind  rides  faster  than  his  horse  can 
gallop,  they  quickly  both  tire. 

Ant.  You  would  look  up  to  Heaven,  but  I  think 
The  devil,  that  rules  i'  the  air,  stands  in  your  light.  99 

Bos.  O,  sir,  you  are  lord  of  the  ascendant,  chief  man 
with  the  duchess  ;  a  duke  was  your  cousin-german  removed. 

1  Observe  throughout  how  Dosolas  images  harmonize  with  his  character. 


5l6  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ii. 

Say  you  are  lineally  descended  from  King  Pepin,  or  he  him- 
self, what  of  this  ?  search  the  heads  of  the  greatest  rivers  in 
the  world,  you  shall  find  them  but  bubbles  of  water.  Some 
would  think  the  souls  of  princes  were  brought  forth  by 
some  more  weighty  cause  than  those  of  meaner  persons  : 
they  are  deceived,  there's  the  same  hand  to  them  ;  the  like 
passions  sway  them ;  the  same  reason  that  makes  a  vicar  to 
go  to  law  for  a  tithe- pig,  and  undo  his  neighbours,  makes 
them  spoil  a  whole  province,  and  batter  down  goodly  cities 
with  the  cannon.  m 

Enter  Duchess  and  Ladies. 

Duch.  Your  arm,  Antonio  :  do  I  not  grow  fat? 
I  am  exceeding  short-winded.  —  Bosola, 
I  would  have  you,  sir,  provide  for  me  a  litter ; 
Such  a  one  as  the  Duchess  of  Florence  rode  in. 

Bos.  The  duchess  used  one  when  she  was  great  with  child. 

Duch.  I  think  she  did.  —  Come  hither,  mend  my  ruff; 
Here,  when  ^  ?  thou  art  such  a  tedious  lady ;  and 
Thy  breath  smells  of  lemon-pills  ;  would  thou  hadst  done  ! 
Shall  I  swoon  under  thy  fingers  !  I  am  120 

So  troubled  with  the  mother  ^ ! 

Bos.  {aside) .  I  fear  too  much. 

Duch.  I  have  heard  you  say  that  the  French  courtiers 
Wear  their  hats  on  'fore  the  king. 

Ant.  I  have  seen  it. 

Duch.  In  the  presence? 

Ant.  Yes. 

1  When,  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 

2  Hysterical  passion ;  so  Lear,  ii,  4 :  — 

"  O,  how  this  mother  swells  up  toward  my  heart! 
Hysterica  passio,  —  down,  thou  climbing  sorrow, 
Thy  element's  below !  " 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  517 

Duch.  Why  should  not  we  bring  up  that  fashion? 
'Tis  ceremony  more  than  duty  that  consists 
In  the  removing  of  a  piece  of  felt : 
Be  you  the  example  to  the  rest  o'  the  court ; 
Put  on  your  hat  first. 

Ant.  You  must  pardon  me  : 
I  have  seen,  in  colder  countries  than  in  France,  130 

Nobles  stand  bare  to  the  prince ;  and  the  distinction 
Methought  showed  reverently. 

Bos.  I  have  a  present  for  your  grace. 

Duch.  For  me,  sir? 

Bos.  Apricocks,  madam. 

Duch.  O,  sir,  where  are  they? 
I  have  heard  of  none  to-year.^ 

Bos.  {aside) .  Good ;  her  colour  rises. 

Duch.  Indeed,  I  thank  you  :  they  are  wondrous  fair  ones. 
What  an  unskilful  fellow  is  our  gardener  1 
We  shall  have  none  this  month. 

Bos.  Will  not  your  grace  pare  them  ?  140 

Duch.  No  :  they  taste  of  musk,  methinks  ;  indeed  they  do. 

Bos.  I  know  not :  yet  I  wish  your  grace  had  pared  'em. 

Duch.  Why? 

Bos.  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  the  knave  gardener, 
Only  to  raise  his  profit  by  them  the  sooner, 
Did  ripen  them  in  horse-dung. 

Duch.  O,  you  jest.  — 
You  shall  judge  :  pray  taste  one. 

Ant.  Indeed,  madam, 
I  do  not  love  the  fruit. 

Duch.  Sir,  you  are  loth 
To  rob  us  of  our  dainties  :  'tis  a  dehcate  fruit ; 

1  This  year. 


5l8  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ii. 

They  say  they  are  restorative. 

Bos.  'Tis  a  pretty  art,  150 

This  grafting. 

Duch.  'Tis  so  ;  bettering  of  nature. 

Bos.  To  make  a  pippin  grow  upon  a  crab, 
A  damson  on  a  blackthorn  —  {Aside)   How  greedily  she  eats 
them  ! 

Duch.  I  thank  you,  Bosola  :  they  are  right  good  ones. 
If  they  do  not  make  me  sick. 

Ant.  How  now,  madam  ! 

Duch.  This  green  fruit  and  my  stomach  are  not  friends  : 
How  they  swell  me  ! 
O,  I  am  in  an  extreme  cold  sweat ! 

Bos.  I  am  very  sorry. 

Duch.  Lights  to  my  chamber  !  —  O  good  Antonio,        160 
I  fear  I  am  undone  ! 

Delio.  Lights  there,  lights  ! 

\_Exeunt  Duchess  and  Ladies.  —  Exity  on  the 
other  side,  Bosola. 

Ant.  O  my  most  trusty  Delio,  we  are  lost ! 

Delio.  Have  you  prepared 
Those  ladies  to  attend  her?  and  procured 
That  politic  safe  conveyance  for  the  midwife 
Your  duchess  plotted? 

Ant.  I  have. 

Delio.  Make  use,  then,  of  this  forced  occasion : 
Give  out  that  Bosola  hath  poisoned  her 
With  these  apricocks ;  that  will  give  some  colour 
For  her  keeping  close. 

Ant.  Fie,  fie,  the  physicians  170 

Will  then  flock  to  her. 

Delio.  For  that  you  may  pretend 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  519 

She'll  use  some  prepared  antidote  of  her  own, 
Lest  the  physicians  should  re-poison  her. 

Ant.  I  am  lost  in  amazement :  I  know  not  what  to  think 
on't.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene   II.  —  A  Hall  in  the  same  Palace. 

Enter  Bosola. 

Bos.  So,  so,  there's  no  question  but  her  techiness  ^  and 
most  vulturous  eating  of  the  apricocks  are  apparent  signs 
of  breeding.  —  Now  ? 

Enter  an  Old  Lady. 

Old  Lady.  I  am  in  haste,  sir. 

Bos.  There  was  a  young  waiting-woman  had  a  monstrous 
desire  to  see  the  glass-house  — 

Old  Lady.  I  will  hear  no  more  of  the  glass-house.  You 
are  still  abusing  women  ?  8 

Bos.  Who,  I?  no;  only,  by  the  way  now  and  then,  men- 
tion your  frailties.  The  orange-tree  bears  ripe  and  green 
fruit  and  blossoms  all  together ;  and  some  of  you  give  enter- 
tainment for  pure  love,  but  more  for  more  precious  reward. 
The  lusty  spring  smells  well;  but  drooping  autumn  tastes 
well.  If  we  have  the  same  golden  showers  that  rained  in 
the  time  of  Jupiter  the  thunderer,  you  have  the  same  Danaes 
still,  to  hold  up  their  laps  to  receive  them.  Didst  thou  never 
study  the  mathematics  ? 

6)A/Z^^.  What's  that,  sir?  18 

Bos.  Why  to  know  the  trick  how  to  make  a  many  lines 

^  Fretfulness,  peevishness  ;  from  the  Middle  English  tecche,  tache,  a  habit ; 
hence  a  bad  habit,  vice,  freak.     Cf.  French  tache. 


520  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  II. 

meet  in  one  centre.  Go,  go,  give  your  foster-daughters  good 
counsel :  tell  them,  that  the  devil  takes  delight  to  hang  at  a 
woman's  girdle,  like  a  false  rusty  watch,  that  she  cannot  dis- 
cern how  the  time  passes.  \^Exit  Old  Lady. 

Enter  Antonio,  Roderigo,  and  Grisolan. 

Ant.  Shut  up  the  court-gates. 
Rod.  Why,  sir?  what's  the  danger? 
Ant.  Shut  up  the  posterns  presently,  and  call 
All  the  officers  o'  the  court. 

Gris.  I  shall  instantly.  \Exit. 

Ant.  Who  keeps  the  key  o'  the  park-gate  ? 
Rod.  Forobosco.  30 

Ant.  Let  him  bring't  presently. 

Re-enter  Grisolan  with  Servants. 

1st  Serv.  O,  gentlemen  o'  the  court,  the  foulest  treason  ! 

Bos.  {aside) .  If  that  these  apricocks  should  be  poisoned 
now. 
Without  my  knowledge  J 

1st  Serv.  There  was   taken   even   now  a  Switzer  in  the 
duchess'  bed  chamber — - 

2d  Serv.  A  Switzer  ! 

1st  Serv.  With  a  pistol. 

Bos.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

2d  Set  V.  There  was  a  cunning  traitor  !  40 

1st  Serv.  And  all  the  moulds  of  his  buttons  were  leaden 
bullets. 

2d  Serv.  O  wicked  cannibal ! 

1st  Serv.  'Twas  a  French  plot,  upon  my  life. 

2d  Serv.  To  see  what  the  devil  can  do  ! 

Ant.  Are  all  the  officers  here? 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  5  21 

Servants.  We  are. 

Ant.  Gentlemen, 
We  have  lost  much  plate  you  know ;  and  but  this  evening 
Jewels,  to  the  value  of  four  thousand  ducats, 
Are  missing  in  the  duchess'  cabinet.  50 

Are  the  gates  shut? 

Serv.  Yes. 

Ant.  'Tis  the  duchess'  pleasure 
Each  officer  be  locked  into  his  chamber 
Till  the  sun-rising ;  and  to  send  the  keys 
Of  all  their  chests  and  of  their  outward  doors 
Into  her  bed-chamber.     She  is  very  sick. 

Rod.  At  her  pleasure. 

Ant.  She  entreats  you  to  tak't  not  ill :  the  innocent    * 
Shall  be  the  more  approved  by  it.  60 

Bos.  Gentlemen  o'  the  wood-yard,  where 's  your  Switzer 
now? 

1st  Serv.  By  this  hand,  'twas  credibly  reported  by  one  o* 
the  black  guard.^       \_Exeunt  all  except  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Velio.  How  fares  it  with  the  duchess  ? 

Ant.  She's  exposed 
Unto  the  worst  of  torture,  pain  and  fear. 

Delio.  Speak  to  her  all  happy  comfort. 

Ant.  How  I  do  play  the  fool  with  mine  own  danger  ! 
You  are  this  night,  dear  friend,  to  post  to  Rome : 
My  life  lies  in  your  service. 

Delio.  Do  not  doubt  me.  70 

Ant.  O,  'tis  far  from  me  :  and  yet  fear  presents  me 
Somewhat  that  looks  like  danger. 

• 

1  "The  .meanest  drudges  in  royal  residences  and  great  houses,  who  rode 
in  the  vehicles  which  carried  the  furniture  and  domestic  utensils  from  man- 
sion to  mansion."  —  Dyce. 


522  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ii. 

Delio.  Believe  it, 
'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  your  fear,  no  more  : 
How  superstitiously  we  mind  our  evils  ! 
The  throwing  down  salt,  or  crossing  of  a  hare, 
Bleeding  at  nose,  the  stumbHng  of  a  horse. 
Or  singing  of  a  cricket,  are  of  power 
To  daunt  [the]  whole  man  in  us.     Sir,  fare  you  well : 
I  wish  you  all  the  joys  of  a  blessed  father  : 
And,  for  my  faith,  lay  this  unto  your  breast,  —  80 

Old  friends,  like  old  swords,  still  are  trusted  best.         \_Exit. 

Enter  Cariola. 

Cari.  Sir,  you  are  the  happy  father  of  a  son : 
Your  wife  commends  him  to  you. 

Ant.  Blessed  comfort !  — 
For  Heaven's  sake  tend  her  well :  I'll  presently 
Go  set  a  figure  for's  nativity.^  {^Exeunt. 


Scene   IH.  —  The  Court  of  the  same  Palace. 

Enter  Bosola,  with  a  dark  lantern. 

Bos.  Sure  I  did  hear  a  woman  shriek  :  list,  ha  ! 
And  the  sound  came,  if  I  received  it  right. 
From  the  duchess'  lodgings.     There's  some  stratagem 
In  the  confining  all  our  courtiers 
To  their  several  wards  :  I  must  have  part  of  it ; 
My  intelligence  will  freeze  else.     List,  again  ! 
It  may  be  'twas  the  melancholy  bird, 
•Best  friend  of  silence  and  of  solitariness. 
The  owl,  that  screamed  so.  —  Ha  !  Antonio  ! 
1  Make  out  his  horoscope. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  523 

Enter  Antonio. 

Ant.  I   heard   some   noise.  —  Who's   there?      What    art 
thou?  speak.  10 

Bos.  Antonio,  put  not  your  face  nor  body- 
To  such  a  forced  expression  of  fear : 
I  am  Bosola,  your  friend. 

Ant.  Bosola  !  — 
{Aside)  This  mole  does  undermine  me.  —  Heard  you  not 
A  noise  even  now? 

Bos.  From  whence? 

Ant.  From  the  duchess'  lodging. 

Bos.  Not  I :  did  you  ? 

Ant.  I  did,  or  else  I  dreamed. 

Bos.  Let's  walk  towards  it. 

Ant.  No :  it  may  be  'twas 
But  the  rising  of  the  wind. 

Bos.  Very  likely. 
Methinks  'tis  very  cold,  and  yet  you  sweat : 
You  look  wildly. 

Ant.  I  have  been  setting  a  figure 
For  the  duchess'  jewels.  20 

Bos.  Ah,  and  how  falls  your  question? 
Do  you  find  it  radical? 

Ant.  What's  that  to  you? 
'Tis  rather  to  be  questioned  what  design. 
When  all  men  were  commanded  to  their  lodgings, 
Makes  you  a  night-walker. 

Bos.  In  sooth,  I'll  tell  you  : 
Now  all  the  court's  asleep,  I  thought  the  devil 
Had  least  to  do  here ;  I  came  to  say  my  prayers  j 
And  if  it  do  offend  you  I  do  so, 


524  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  ii. 

You  are  a  fine  courtier. 

Ant.   {aside).  This  fellow  will  undo  me.  — 
You  gave  the  duchess  apricocks  to-day :  30 

Pray  Heaven  they  were  not  poisoned  ! 

Bos.  Poisoned  !     A  Spanish  fig 
For  the  imputation. 

Ant.  Traitors  are  ever  confident 
Till  they  are  discovered.     There  were  jewels  stol'n  too  ; 
In  my  conceit  none  are  to  be  suspected 
More  than  yourself. 

Bos.  You  are  a  false  steward. 

Ant.  Saucy  slave,  I'll  pull  thee  up  by  the  roots. 

Bos.  Maybe  the  ruin  will  crush  you  to  pieces. 

Ant.  You  are  an  impudent  snake  indeed,  sir :  40 

Are  you  scarce  warm,  and  do  you  show  your  sting? 
You  libel  well,  sir. 

Bos.  No,  sir  :  copy  it  out, 
And  I  will  set  my  hand  to't. 

Ant.   {aside).  My  nose  bleeds. 
One  that  were  superstitious  would  count 
This  ominous,  when  it  merely  comes  by  chance  : 
Two  letters  that  are  wrote  here  for  my  name. 
Are  drowned  in  blood  !    ■ 
Mere  accident.  —  For  you,  sir,  I'll  take  order 
I'    the    morn   you  shall  be  safe  :  —  {aside)   'tis  that  must 

colour 
Her  lying-in  :  —  sir,  this  door  you  pass  not :  50 

I  do  not  hold  it  fit  that  you  come  near 
The  duchess'  lodgings,  till  you  have  quit  yourself.  — 
{Aside)  The  great  are  like  the  base,  nay,  they  are  the  same, 
When  they  seek  shameful  ways  to  avoid  shame.  \^Exit. 

Bos.  Antonio  hereabouts  did  drop  a  paper  :  — 


SCENE  III.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  525 

Some  of  your  help,  false  friend  :  —  O,  here  it  is. 
What's  here  ?  a  child's  nativity  calculated  !  \_Reads. 

"  The  duchess  was  delivered  of  a  son,  'tween  the  hours 
twelve  and  one  in  the  night.  Anno  Dom.  1504," — that's 
this  year — ''  decimo  notio  Decembris,^'  —  that's  this  night, — 
^^  taken  according  to  the  meridian  of  Malfi,"  —  that's  our 
duchess  :  happy  discovery  ! — "The  lord  of  the  first  house 
being  combust  ^  in  the  ascendant,  signifies  short  Kfe ;  and 
Mars  being  in  a  human  sign,  joined  to  the  tail  of  the 
Dragon,  in  the  eighth  house,  doth  threaten  a  violent  death. 
CcBtera  non  sc7'utantiiry  65 

Why,  now  'tis  most  apparent :  this  precise  fellow 
Is  the  duchess'  bawd  :  —  I  have  it  to  my  wish  ! 
This  is  a  parcel  of  intelligency 

Our  courtiers  were  cased  up  for  :  it  needs  must  follow 
That  I  must  be  committed  on  pretence 
Of  poisoning  her ;  which  I'll  endure,  and  laugh  at. 
If  one  could  find  the  father  now  !  but  that 
Time  will  discover.     Old  Castruccio 
I'  the  morning  posts  to  Rome  :  by  him  I'll  send 
A  letter  that  shall  make  her  brothers'  galls  75 

O'er  flow  their  livers.     This  was  a  thrifty  way. 
Though  lust  do  mask  in  ne'er  so  strange  disguise, 
She's  oft  found  witty,  but  is  never  wise.  \Exit. 

1  Astrological  term,  used  of  a  heavenly  body  not  above  eight  and  one- 
half  degrees  distant  from  the  sun. 


526  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ii. 

Scene  IV.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of  the  Cardinal  at 
Rome. 

Enter  Cardinal  and  Julia. 

Card.  Sit :  thou  art  my  best  of  wishes.     Prithee,  tell  me 
What  trick  didst  thou  invent  to  come  to  Rome 
Without  thy  husband. 

Julia.  Why,  my  lord,  I  told  him 
I  came  to  visit  an  old  anchorite 
Here  for  devotion. 

Card.  Thou  art  a  witty  false  one,  — 
I  mean,  to  him. 

Julia.  You  have  prevailed  with  me 
Beyond  my  strongest  thoughts  :  I  would  not  now 
Find  you  inconstant. 

Card.  Do  not  put  thyself 
To  such  a  voluntary  torture,  which  proceeds 
Out  of  your  own  guilt. 
Julia.  How,  my  lord  ! 

Card.  You  fear  10 

My  constancy,  because  you  have  approved 
Those  giddy  and  wild  turnings  in  yourself. 
Julia.  Did  you  e'er  find  them  ? 
Card.  Sooth,  generally  for  women, 
A  man  might  strive  to  make  glass  malleable, 
Ere  he  should  make  them  fixed. 
Julia.  So,  my  lord. 

Card.  We  had  need  go  borrow  that  fantastic  glass  ^ 
Invented  by  Galileo  the  Florentine 
To  view  another  spacious  world  i'  the  moon, 

1  Another  anachronism ;  the  telescope  was  not  invented  until  about  1608, 


SCENE  IV.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  527 

And  look  to  find  a  constant  woman  there.  20 

Julia.  This  is  very  well,  my  lord. 
Card.  Why  do  you  weep  ? 
Are  tears  your  justification  ?  the  self-same  tears 
Will  fall  into  your  husband's  bosom,  lady, 
With  a  loud  protestation  that  you  love  him 
Above  the  world.     Come,  I'll  love  you  wisely. 
That's  jealously. 

Julia.  I'll  go  home 
To  my  husband. 

Card.  You  may  thank  me,  lady, 
I  have  taken  you  off  your  melancholy  perch. 
Bore  you  upon  my  fist,  and  showed  you  game. 
And  let  you  fly  at  it.  —  I  pray  thee,  kiss  me.  —  30 

When  thou  wast  with  thy  husband,  thou  wast  watched 
Like  a  tame  elephant :  —  still  you  are  to  thank  me  :  — ■ 
Thou  hadst  only  kisses  from  him  and  high  feeding ; 
But  what  delight  was  that  ?  'twas  just  like  one 
That  hath  a  little  fingering  on  the  lute. 
Yet  cannot  tune  it :  —  still  you  are  to  thank  me. 

Julia.  You  told  me  of  a  piteous  wound  i'  the  heart 
And  a  sick  liver,  when  you  wooed  me  first. 
And  spake  like  one  in  physic. 
Card.  Who's  that?  — 

Enter  Servant. 

Rest  firm,  for  my  affection  to  thee,  40 

Lightning  moves  slow  to't. 

Serv.  Madam,  a  gentleman. 
That's  come  post  from  Malfi,  desires  to  see  you. 

Card.  Let  him  enter  :  I'll  withdraw.  \^Exit. 

Serv.  He  says 


528  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  ii. 

Your  husband,  old  Castruccio,  is  come  to  Rome, 

Most  pitifully  tired  with  riding  post.  \_Extt. 

Enter  Delio. 

Julia  {aside) .  Signior  Delio  !  'tis  one  of  my  old  suitors. 

Delio.  I  was  bold  to  come  and  see  you. 

Julia,  Sir,  you  are  welcome. 

Delio.  Do  you  He  here  ? 

Julia.  Sure,  your  own  experience  50 

Will  satisfy  you  no  :  our  Roman  prelates 
Do  not  keep  lodging  for  ladies. 

Delio.  Very  well : 
I  have  brought  you  no  commendations  from  your  husband, 
For  I  know  none  by  him.^ 

Julia.  I  hear  he's  come  to  Rome. 

Delio.  I  never  knew  man  and  beast,  of  a  horse  and  a 
knight 
So  weary  of  each  other  :  if  he  had  had  a  good  back. 
He  would  have  undertook  to  have  borne  his  horse, 
His  breech  was  so  pitifully  sore. 

Julia.  Your  laughter 
Is  my  pity. 

Delio,  Lady,  I  know  not  whether 
You  want  money,  but  I  have  brought  you  some.  60 

Julia,  From  my  husband? 

Delio.  No,  from  mine  own  allowance. 

Julia,  I  must  hear  the  condition,  ere  I  be  bound  to  take  it. 

Delio,  Look  on't,  'tis  gold  :  hath  it  not  a  fine  colour? 

Julia.  I  have  a  bird  more  beautiful. 

1  Following  the  old  quartos,  here  and  later  in  this  scene,  the  lines  are 
printed  metrically,  although,  as  Dyce  remarks,  "some  of  these  speeches 
hardly  read  like  verse.'' 


SCENE  IV.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  529 

Delio.  Try  the  sound  on't. 

Julia.  A  lute  string  far  exceeds  it : 
It  hath  no  smell,  like  cassia  or  civet ; 
Nor  is  it  physical,  though  some  fond  doctors 
Persuade  us  seethe't  in  cullises' ;  I'll  tell  you,  70 

This  is  a  creature  bred  by  — 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Your  husband's  come. 
Hath  delivered  a  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Calabria 
That,  to  my  thinking,  hath  put  him  out  of  his  wits.       \_ExU. 

Julia.  Sir,  you  hear  : 
Pray,  let  me  know  your  business  and  your  suit 
As  briefly  as  can  be. 

Delio.  With  good  speed  :  I  would  wish  you, 
At  such  time  as  you  are  non-resident 
With  your  husband,  my  mistress. 

Julia.  Sir,  I'll  go  ask  my  husband  if  I  shall, 
And  straight  return  your  answer.  \Exit. 

Delio.  Very  fine  ! 
Is  this  her  wit,  or  honesty,  that  speaks  thus  ? 
I  heard  one  say  the  duke  was  highly  moved 
With  a  letter  sent  from  Malfi.     I  do  fear 
Antonio  is  betrayed  :  how  fearfully 
Sliows  his  ambition  now  !  unfortunate  fortune  ! 
They  pass  through  whirlpools,  and  deep  woes  do  shun, 
Who  the  event  weigh  ere  the  action's  done.  \_Exit. 

1  "A  cullis  was  a  strong  and  savory  broth  of  boiled  meat  strained,  for 
debilitated  persons :  the  old  receipt-books  recommend  '  pieces  of  gold 
among  its  ingredients."  —  Dyce. 


530  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  II. 

Scene  V.  —  Another  Apartment  in  the  same  Palace, 
Enter  Cardinal,  and  Ferdinand  with  a  letter. 

Ferd.  I  have  this  night  digged  up  a  mandrake. 

Card.  Say  you  ? 

Ferd.  And  I  am  grown  mad  with't.^ 

Card.  What's  the  prodigy? 

Ferd.  Read  there,  —  a  sister  dammed  :  she's  loose  i'  the 
hilts ; 
Grown  a  notorious  strumpet. 

Card.  Speak  lower. 

Ferd.  Lower ! 
Rogues  do  not  whisper't  now,  but  seek  to  pubHsh't 
(As  servants  do  the  bounty  of  their  lords) 
Aloud ;  and  with  a  covetous  searching  eye. 
To  mark  who  note  them.     O,  confusion  seize  her  ! 
She  hath  had  most  cunning  bawds  to  serve  her  turn, 
And  more  secure  conveyances  for  lust  lo 

Than  towns  of  garrison  for  service. 

Card.  Is't  possible  ? 
Can  this  be  certain? 

Ferd.  Rhubarb,  O,  for  rhubarb 
To  purge  this  choler  !  here's  the  cursed  day 
To  prompt  my  memory ;  and  here't  shall  stick 
Till  of  her  bleeding  heart  I  make  a  sponge 
To  wipe  it  out. 

Card.  Why  do  you  make  yourself 
So  wild  a  tempest  ? 

1  Cf.  Romeo  and  yuliet,  iv,  3  :  — 

"  And  shrieks  like  mandrakes  torn  out  of  the  earth, 
That  living  mortals  hearing  them  run  mad." 


SCENE  v.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  531 

Ferd.  Would  I  could  be  one, 
That  I  might  toss  her  palace  'bout  her  ears, 
Root  up  her  goodly  forests,  blast  her  meads, 
And  lay  her  general  territory  as  waste 
As  she  hath  done  her  honours. 

Card.  Shall  our  blood,  20 

The  royal  blood  of  Arragon  and  Castile, 
Be  thus  attainted? 

Fei'd.  Apply  desperate  physic  : 
We  must  not  now  use  balsamum,  but  fire. 
The  smarting  cupping-glass,  for  that's  the  mean 
To  purge  infected  blood,  such  blood  as  hers. 
There  is  a  kind  of  pity  in  mine  eye,  — 
I'll  give  it  to  my  handkercher ;  and  now  'tis  here, 
I'll  bequeath  this  to  her  bastard. 

Card.  What  to  do? 

Ferd.  Why,  to  make  soft  lint  for  his  mother's  wounds, 
When  I  have  hewed  her  to  pieces. 

Card.  Cursed  creature !  '  30 

Unequal  nature,  to  place  women's  hearts 
So  far  upon  the  left  side  ! 

Ferd.  Foolish  men. 
That  e'er  will  trust  their  honour  in  a  bark 
Made  of  so  slight  weak  bulrush  as  is  woman, 
Apt  every  minute  to  sink  it ! 

Card.  Thus 
Ignorance,  when  it  hath  purchased  honour, 
It  cannot  wield  it. 

Ferd.  Methinks  I  see  her  laughing  — 
Excellent  hyena  !     Talk  to  me  somewhat  quickly. 
Or  my  imagination  will  carry  me 
To  see  her  in  the  shameful  act  of  sin.  40 


532  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ii. 

Card.  How  idly  shows  this  rage,  which  carries  you, 
As  men  conveyed  by  witches  through  the  air, 
On  violent  whirlwinds  !  this  intemperate  noise 
Fitly  resembles  deaf  men's  shrill  discourse, 
Who  talk  aloud,  thinking  all  other  men 
To  have  their  imperfection. 

Ferd.  Have  not  you 
My  palsy? 

Card.  Yes,  but  I  can  be  angry 
Without  this  rupture  ^ :  there  is  not  in  nature 
A  thing  that  makes  man  so  deformed,  so  beastly, 
As  doth  intemperate  anger.     Chide  yourself.  50 

You  have  divers  men  who  never  yet  expressed 
Their  strong  desire  of  rest  but  by  unrest, 
By  vexing  of  themselves.     Come,  put  yourself 
In  tune. 

Ferd.  So  I  will  only  study  to  seem 
The  thing  I  am  not.     I  could  kill  her  now. 
In  you,  or  in  myself;  for  I  do  think 
It  is  some  sin  in  us  Heaven  doth  revenge 
By  her. 

Card.  Are  you  stark  mad? 

Fei'd.  I  would  have  their  bodies 
Burnt  in  a  coal-pit  with  the  ventage  stopped. 
That  their  cursed  smoke  might  not  ascend  to  Heaven ;       60 
Or  dip  the  sheets  they  he  in  in  pitch  or  sulphur, 
Wrap  them  in't,  and  then  Hght  them  like  a  match  ! 

Card.  I'll  leave  you. 

Ferd.  Nay,  I  have  done. 
I  am  confident,  had  I  been  damned  in  hell. 
And  should  have  heard  of  this,  it  would  have  put  me 

1  Dyce  suggests  rapture. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  533 

Into  a  cold  sweat.     In,  in ;  I'll  go  sleep. 

Till  I  know  who  wrongs  my  sister,  I'll  not  stir : 

That  known,  I'll  find  scorpions  to  string  my  whips, 

And  fix  her  in  a  general  eclipse.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 

Scene  I.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of  the  Duchess. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Ant.  Our  noble  fi-iend,  my  most  beloved  Delio  ! 
O,  you  have  been  a  stranger  long  at  court ; 
Came  you  along  with  the  Lord  Ferdinand  ? 

Delio.  I  did,  sir  :  and  how  fares  your  noble  duchess  ? 

Ant.  Right  fortunately  well :  she's  an  excellent 
Feeder  of  pedigrees  j  since  you  last  saw  her. 
She  hath  had  two  children  more,  a  son  and  daughter. 

Delio.  Methinks  'twas  yesterday  :  let  me  but  wink, 
And  not  behold  your  face,  which  to  mine  eye 
Is  somewhat  leaner,  verily  I  should  dream 
It  were  within  this  half  hour. 

Ant.  You  have  not  been  in  law,  friend  Delio, 
Nor  in  prison,  nor  a  suitor  at  the  court. 
Nor  begged  the  reversion  of  some  great  man's  place, 
Nor  troubled  with  an  old  wife,  which  doth  make 
Your  time  so  insensibly  hasten. 

Delio.  Pray,  sir,  tell  me. 
Hath  not  this  news  arrived  yet  to  the  ear 
Of  the  lord  cardinal  ? 


534  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  ill. 

Ani.  I  fear  it  hath  : 
The  Lord  Ferdinand,  that's  newly  come  to  court,  20 

Doth  bear  himself  right  dangerously. 

Delio,  Pray,  why? 

Ant.  He  is  so  quiet  that  he  seems  to  sleep 
The  tempest  out,  as  dormice  do  in  winter : 
Those  houses  that  are  haunted  are  most  still 
Till  the  devil  be  up. 

Delio.  What  say  the  common  people  ? 

Ant  The  common  rabble  do  directly  say 
She  is  a  strumpet. 

Delio.  And  your  graver  heads 
Which  would  be  politic,  what  censure  they? 

Anf.  They  do  observe  I  grow  to  infinite  purchase,^         30 
The  left  hand  way,  and  all  suppose  the  duchess 
Would  amend  it,  if  she  could  ;  for,  say  they. 
Great  princes,  though  they  grudge  their  officers 
Should  have  such  large  and  unconfinfed  means 
To  get  wealth  under  them,  will  not  complain, 
Lest  thereby  they  should  make  them  odious 
Unto  the  people  ;  for  other  obligation 
Of  love  or  marriage  between  her  and  me 
They  never  dream  of. 

Delio.  The  Lord  Ferdinand 
Is  going  to  bed. 

Enter  Duchess,  Ferdinand,  and  Attendants. 

Ferd.  I'll  instantly  to  bed,  40 

For  I  am  weary.  —  I  am  to  bespeak 
A  husband  for  you. 

Duch.  For  me,  sir  !  pray,  who  is't? 

1  Cant  term  for  stolen  goods ;  here  means  riches,  property. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  535 

Ferd.  The  great  Count  Malatesti. 

Duch.  Fie  upon  him  ! 
A  count !  he's  a  mere  stick  of  sugar-candy ; 
You  may  look  quite  through  him.     When  I  choose 
A  husband,  I  will  marry  for  your  honour. 

Ferd.  You  shall  do  well  in't.  —  How  is't,  worthy  Antonio  ? 

Duch.  But,  sir,  I  am  to  have  private  conference  with  you 
About  a  scandalous  report  is  spread 
Touching  mine  honour. 

Ferd.  Let  me  be  ever  deaf  to't :  50 

One  of  Pasquil's  ^  paper  bullets,  court-calumny, 
A  pestilent  air,  which  princes'  palaces 
Are  seldom  purged  of.     Yet  say  that  it  were  true, 
I  pour  it  in  your  bosom,  my  fixed  love 
Would  strongly  excuse,  extenuate,  nay,  deny 
Faults,  were  they  apparent  in  you.     Go,  be  safe 
In  your  own  innocency. 

Duch.  {aside) .  O  blessed  comfort ! 
This  deadly  air  is  purged. 

{^Exeunt  Duchess,  Antonio,  Delio,  and  Attendants. 

Ferd.  Her  guilt  treads  on 
Hot-burning  coulters. 

Enter  Bosola. 
Now,  Bosola, 

1  "  A  Roman  cobbler  of  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century,  whose 
shop  stood  near  the  Braschi  palace,  near  the  Piazza  Navona.  He  was 
notorious  for  caustic  remarks,  and  gradually  every  bitter  saying  became 
attributed  to  him  or  his  workmen.  After  his  death,  a  mutilated  statue  was 
dug  out  and  set  up  near  his  shop,  upon  which  the  populace  declared  that 
Pasquin  has  come  to  life  again.  Then  the  custom  arose  of  attaching  to  the 
torso  stinging  epigrams  or  satirical  verses  {pasquinades)  often  directed 
against  the  Pope  and  cardinals,  and  no  prohibition  nor  penalty  could  put  a 
stop  to  the  practice."  —  Wheeler,  Noted  Names  of  Fiction. 


536  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ill. 

How  thrives  our  intelligence  ? 

Bos.  Sir,  uncertainly  :  60 

'Tis  rumoured  she  hath  had  three  bastards,  but 
By  whom  we  may  go  read  i'  the  stars. 

Ferd.  Why,  some 
Hold  opinion  all  things  are  written  there. 

Bos.  Yes,  if  we  could  find  spectacles  to  read  them. 
I  do  suspect  there  hath  been  some  sorcery 
Used  on  the  duchess. 

Ferd.  Sorcery  !  to  what  purpose  ? 

Bos.  To  make  her  dote  on  some  desertless  fellow 
She  shames  to  acknowledge. 

Ferd.  Can  your  faith  give  way 
To  think  there's  power  in  potions  or  in  charms, 
To  make  us  love  whether  we  will  or  no  ?  7° 

Bos.  Most  certainly. 

Ferd.  Away  !  these  are  mere  gulleries,^  horrid  things, 
Invented  by  some  cheating  mountebanks 
To  abuse  us.     Do  you  think  that  herbs  or  charms 
Can  force  the  will  ?     Some  trials  have  been  made 
In  this  foolish  practice,  but  the  ingredients 
Were  lenitive  poisons,  such  as  are  of  force 
To  make  the  patient  mad ;  and  straight  the  witch 
Swears  by  equivocation  they  are  in  love. 
The  witchcraft  lies  in  her  rank  blood.     This  night  80 

I  will  force  confession  from  her.  You  told  me 
You  had  got,  within  these  two  days,  a  false  key 
Into  her  bed-chamber. 

Bos.  I  have. 

Ferd.  As  I  would  wish. 

Bos.  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ? 
1  Impostures. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  537 

Ferd.  Can  you  guess? 

Bos.  No. 

Ferd,  Do  not  ask,  then  : 
He  that  can  compass  me,  and  know  my  drifts, 
May  say  he  hath  put  a  girdle  'bout  the  world/ 
And  sounded  all  her  quicksands. 

Bos.  I  do  not 
Think  so.  9° 

Ferd.  What  do  you  think,  then,  pray? 

Bos.  That  you  are 
Your  own  chronicle  too  much,  and  grossly 
Flatter  yourself. 

Ferd.  Give  me  thy  hand  ;  I  thank  thee  : 
I  never  gave  pension  but  to  flatterers. 
Till  I  entertained  thee.     Farewell. 
That  friend  a  great  man's  ruin  strongly  checks, 
Who  rails  into  his  belief  all  his  defects.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  II. —  The  Bed-chamber  of  the  Duchess. 

Enter  Duchess,  Antonio,  a7id  Cariola. 

Duch.  {to  Cart.).  Bring  me  the  casket  hither,  and  the 
glass.  — 
You  get  no  lodging  here  to-night,  my  lord. 
Ant.  Indeed,  I  must  persuade  one. 

Duch.  I'll  stop  your  mouth.  \_Kisses  him. 

Ant.  Nay,  that's  but  one ;  Venus  had  two  soft  doves 
To  draw  her  chariot ;  I  must  have  another  — 

\_She  kisses  him  again. 
1  CI  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  ii,  2 :  — 

"  I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes." 


538  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  III. 

When  wilt  thou  marry,  Cariola? 

Cari.  Never,  my  lord. 

Ant.  O,  fie  upon  this  single  life  !  forego  it. 
We  read  how  Daphne,  for  her  peevish^  flight, 
Became  a  fruitless  bay- tree  ;  Syrinx^  turned  10 

To  the  pale  empty  reed;  Anaxarete^ 
Was  frozen  into  marble  :  whereas  those 
Which  married,  or  proved  kind  unto  their  friends. 
Were  by  a  gracious  influence  transhaped 
Into  the  olive,  pomegranate,  mulberry. 
Became  flowers,  precious  stones,  or  eminent  stars. 

Cari.  This  is  a  vain  poetry  :  but  I  pray  you  tell  me. 
If  there  were  proposed  me,  wisdom,  riches,  and  beauty, 
In  three  several  young  men,  which  should  I  choose. 

Ant.  'Tis  a  hard  question  :  this  was  Paris'  case,  20 

And  he  was  blind  in't,  and  there  was  great  cause ; 
For  how  was't  possible  he  could  judge  right, 
Having  three  amorous  goddesses  in  view, 
And  they  stark  naked  ?  'twas  a  motion 
Were  able  to  benight  the  apprehension 
Of  the  severest  counsellor  of  Europe. 
Now  I  look  on  both  your  faces  so  well  formed, 
It  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  question  I  would  ask. 

Cari.  What  is't? 

Aiit.  I  do  wonder  why. hard-favoured  ladies. 
For  the  most  part,  keep  worse-favoured  waiting-women 
To  attend  them,  and  cannot  endure  fair  ones.  31 

1  Foolish. 

2  "  An  Arcadian  nymph,  who  being  pursued  by  Pan,  fled  into  the  river 
Ladon,  and  at  her  own  prayer  was  metamorphosed  into  a  reed,  of  which 
Pan  then  made  his  flute."  —  Smith's  Classical  Diet. 

8  A  Cyprian  maid,  whose  lover,  Iphis,  hung  himself  in  despair  at  her 
door.    Venus  turned  her  into  a  statue. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  539 

Duch.  O,  that's  &oon  answered. 
Did  you  ever  in  your  life  know  an  ill  painter 
Desire  to  have  his  dwelling  next  door  to  the  shop 
Of  an  excellent  picture- maker?  'twould  disgrace 
His  face-making,  and  undo  him.     I  prithee, 
When  were  we  so  merry  ?  —  My  hair  tangles. 

Ant.   {aside  to  Cart.) .  Pray  thee,  Cariola,  let's  steal  forth 
the  room, 
And  let  her  talk  to  herself:  I  have  divers  times 
Served  her  the  Uke,  when  she  hath  chafed  extremely.  40 

I  love  to  see  her  angry.     Softly,  Cariola. 

\_Exeunt  Antonio  and  Cariola, 

Duch.  Doth  not  the  colour  of  my  hair  'gin  to  change  ? 
When  I  wax  gray,  I  shall  have  all  the  court 
Powder  their  hair  with  orris  to  be  like  me. 
You  have  cause  to  love  me ;  I  entered  you  into  my  heart 
Before  you  would  vouchsafe  to  call  for  the  keys. 

Enter  Ferdinand  behind. 

We  shall  one  day  have  my  brothers  take  you  napping ; 

Methinks  his  presence,  being  now  in  court, 

Should  make  you  keep  your  own  bed ;  but  you'll  say 

Love  mixed  with  fear  is  sweetest.  50 

Have  you  lost  your  tongue  ?     'Tis  welcome  : 

For  know,  whether  I  am  doomed  to  live  or  die, 

I  can  do  both  hke  a  prince. 

Ferd.  Die,  then,  quickly.!  \_Giving  her  a  poniard. 

Virtue,  where  art  thou  hid  ?  what  hideous  thing 
Is  it  that  doth  eclipse  thee  ? 

Duch.  Pray,  sir,  hear  me. 

Ferd.  Or  is  it  true  thou  art  but  a  bare  name, 
And  no  essential  thing? 


540.  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  hi. 

Duch.  Sir, — 

Ferd.  Do  not  speak. 

Duch.  No,  sir : 
I  will  plant  my  soul  in  mine  ears,  to  hear  you. 

Ferd.  O  most  imperfect  light  of  human  reason. 
That  mak'st  us  so  unhappy  to  foresee  60 

What  we  can  least  prevent !  Pursue  thy  wishes. 
And  glory  in  them  :  there's  in  shame  no  comfort 
But  to  be  past  all  bounds  and  sense  of  shame. 

Duch.  I  pray,  sir,  hear  me  :  I  am  married. 

Ferd.  So  ! 

Duch.  Happily,  not  to  your  liking  :  but  for  that, 
Alas,  your  shears  do  come  untimely  now 
To  clip  the  bird's  wing  that's  already  flown  ! 
Will  you  see  my  husband  ? 

Ferd.  Yes,  if  I  could  change 
Eyes  with  a  basiUsk. 

Duch.  Sure,  you  came  hither 
By  his  confederacy. 

Ferd.  The  howling  of  a  wolf 
Is  music  to  thee,  screech-owl :  prithee,  peace.  —  -jo 

Whate'er  thou  art  that  hast  enjoyed  my  sister. 
For  I  am  sure  thou  hear'st  me,  for  thine  own  sake 
Let  me  not  know  thee.     I  came  hither  prepared 
To  work  thy  discovery ;  yet  am  now  persuaded 
It  would  beget  such  violent  effects 
As  would  damn  us  both.     I  would  not  for  ten  millions 
I  had  beheld  thee  :  therefore  use  all  means 
I  never  may  have  knowledge  of  thy  name  ; 
Enjoy  thy  lust  still,  and  a  wretched  life. 
On  that  condition.  —  And  for  thee,  vile  woman,  80 

I  would  have  thee  build 


SCENE  II.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  54I 

Such  a  room  for  him  as  our  anchorites 
To  hoHer  use  inhabit.     Let  not  the  sun 
Shine  on  him  till  he's  dead ;  let  dogs  and  monkeys 
Only  converse  with  him,  and  such  dumb  things 
To  whom  nature  denies  use  to  sound  his  name ; 
Do  not  keep  a  paraquito,  lest  she  learn  it ; 
If  thou  do  love  him,  cut  out  thine  own  tongue, 
Lest  it  bewray  him. 

Duch.  Why  might  not  I  marry? 
I  have  not  gone  about  in  this  to  create  90 

Any  new  world  or  custom. 

Ferd.  Thou  art  undone  : 
And  thou  hast  ta'en  that  massy  sheet  of  lead 
That  hid  thy  husband's  bones,  and  folded  it 
About  my  heart. 

Duch.  Mine  bleeds  for't. 

Ferd.  Thine  !  thy  heart ! 
What  should  I  name't  unless  a  hollow  bullet 
Filled  with  unquenchable  wild-fire  ? 

Duch.  You  are  in  this 
Too  strict ;  and  were  you  not  my  princely  brother, 
I  would  say,  too  wilful :  my  reputation 
Is  safe. 

Ferd.  Dost  thou  know  what  reputation  is  ? 
I'll  tell  thee,  —  to  small  purpose,  since  the  instruction        joo 
Comes  now  too  late. 

Upon  a  time  Reputation,  Love,  and  Death, 
Would  travel  o'er  the  world ;  and  it  was  concluded 
That  they  should  part,  and  take  three  several  ways. 
Death  told  them,  they  should  find  him  in  great  battles, 
Or  cities  plagued  with  plagues  :  Love  gives  them  counsel 
To  inquire  for  him  'mongst  unambitious  shepherds, 


542  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  III. 

Where  dowries  were  not  talked  of,  and  sometimes 

'Mongst  quiet  kindred  that  had  nothing  left 

By  their  dead  parents  :  "  Stay,"  quoth  Reputation,  no 

"  Do  not  forsake  me ;  for  it  is  my  nature, 

If  once  I  part  from  any  man  I  meet, 

I  am  never  found  again."     And  so  for  you : 

You  have  shook  hands  with  Reputation, 

And  made  him  invisible.     So,  fare  you  well : 

I  will  never  see  you  more. 

Duch.  Why  should  only  I, 
Of  all  the  other  princes  of  the  world. 
Be  cased  up,  like  a  holy  relic  ?     I  have  youth 
And  a  little  beauty. 

Ferd.  So  you  have  some  virgins 
That  are  witches.     I  will  never  see  thee  more.      \^Exit.     120 

Re-enter  Antonio  with  a  pistol,  and  Cariola. 

Duch.  You  saw  this  apparition  ? 

Ant.  Yes  :  we  are 
Betrayed.     How  came  he  hither?     I  should  turn 
This  to  thee,  for  that. 

Cari.  Pray,  sir,  do ;  and  when 
That  you  have  cleft  my  heart,  you  shall  read  there 
Mine  innocence. 

Duch.  That  gallery  gave  him  entrance. 

Ant.  I  would  this  terrible  thing  would  come  again. 
That,  standing  on  my  guard,  I  might  relate 
My  warrantable  love. —  \_She  shows  the  poniard. 

Ha  !  what  means  this  ? 

Duch.  He  left  this  with  me. 

Ant.  And  it  seems  did  wish  130 

You  would  use  it  on  yourself. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  543 

Duch.  His  action 
Seemed  to  intend  so  much. 

Ant.  This  hath  a  handle  to't, 
As  well  as  a  point :  turn  it  towards  him, 
And  so  fasten  the  keen  edge  in  his  rank  gall. 

\_Knocking  within. 
How  now  !  who  knocks  ?  more  earthquakes  ? 

Duch.  I  stand 
As  if  a  mine  beneath  my  feet  were  ready 
To  be  blown  up. 

Cari.  'Tis  Bosola. 

Duch.  Away  ! 
O  misery  !  methinks  unjust  actions 

Should  wear  these  masks  and  curtains,  and  not  we.  139 

You  must  instantly  part  hence  :  I  have  fashioned  it  already. 

\_Exit  Antonio. 
Enter  Bosola. 

Bos.  The  duke  your  brother  is  ta'en  up  in  a  whirlwind, 
Hath  took  horse,  and's  rid  post  to  Romec 

Duch.  So  late? 

Bos.  He  told  me,  as  he  mounted  into  the  saddle, 
You  were  undone. 

Duch.  Indeed,  I  am  very  near  it. 

Bos.  What's  the  matter? 

Duch.  Antonio,  the  master  of  our  household, 
Hath  dealt  so  falsely  with  me  in's  accounts  : 
My  brother  stood  engaged  with  me  for  money 
Ta'en  up  of  certain  Neapolitan  Jews, 
And  Antonio  lets  the  bonds  be  forfeit.  150 

Bos.  Strange  !  —  {Aside)  This  is  cunning. 

Duch.  And  hereupon 


•544  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  hi. 

My  brother's  bills  at  Naples  are  protested 
Against.  —  Call  up  our  officers. 

Bos.  I  shall.  \^Exit. 

Re-enter  Antonio. 

Duch.  The  place  that  you  must  fly  to  is  Ancona : 
Hire  a  house  there ;  I'll  send  after  you 
My  treasure  and  my  jewels.     Our  weak  safety 
Runs  upon  enginous^  wheels  :   short  syllables 
Must  stand  for  periods.     I  must  now  accuse  you 
Of  such  a  feigned  crime  as  Tasso  calls 

Magnanima  menzogna^  a  noble  lie,  i6o 

'Cause  it  must  shield  our  honours.  —  Hark  !  they  are  coming. 

Re-etiter  Bosola  and  Officers. 

AnL  Will  your  grace  hear  me  ? 

Duch.  I  have  got  well  by  you  ;  you  have  yielded  me 
A  million  of  loss  :  I  am  like  to  inherit 
The  people's  curses  for  your  stewardship. 
You  had  the  trick  in  audit- time  to  be  sick, 
Till  I  had  signed  your  quietus  ;  and  that  cured  you 
Without  help  of  a  doctor.  —  Gentlemen, 
I  would  have  this  man  be  an  example  to  you  all ; 
So  shall  you  hold  my  favour ;  I  pray,  let  him  ;  170 

For  h'as  done  that,  alas,  you  would  not  think  of, 
And,  because  I  intend  to  be  rid  of  him, 
I  mean  not  to  publish.  —  Use  your  fortune  elsewhere. 

Ant.  I  am  strongly  armed  to  brook  my  overthrow. 
As  commonly  men  bear  with  a  hard  year : 
I  will  not  blame  the  cause  on't ;  but  do  think 

1  The  Quarto  of  1640  has  ingenious. 

2  See  Tasso,  Gerusalemme  Liberata,  ii,  22.    Horace  uses  the  expression 
splendide  mendax. 


SCENE  ii.j  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI .  545 

The  necessity  of  my  malevolent  star 

Procures  this,  not  her  humour.     O,  the  inconstant 

And  rotten  ground  of  service  !  you  may  see, 

'Tis  even  like  him,  that  in  a  winter  night,  180 

Takes  a  long  slumber  o'er  a  dying  fire, 

A-loth  to  part  from't ;  yet  parts  thence  as  cold 

As  when  he  first  sat  down. 

Duch.  We  do  confiscate. 
Towards  the  satisfying  of  your  accounts. 
All  that  you  have. 

Ant.  I  am  all  yours ;  and  'tis  very  fit 
All  mine  should  be  so. 

Duch.  So,  sir,  you  have  your  pass. 

Ant.  You  may  see,  gentlemen,  what  'tis  to  serve 
A  prince  with  body  and  soul.  \_Exit. 

Bos.  Here's  an  example  for  extortion  :  what  moisture  is 
drawn  out  of  the  sea,  when  foul  weather  comes,  pours  down, 
and  runs  into  the  sea  again.  191 

Duch.  I  would  know  what  are  your  opinions 
Of  this  Antonio. 

2d  Off.  He  could  not  abide  to  see  a  pig's  head  gaping : 
I  thought  your  grace  would  find  him  a  Jew.^ 

3d  Off.  I  would  you  had  been  his  officer,  for  your  own  sake. 

4th  Off.  You  would  have  had  more  money. 

1st  Off.  He  stopped  his  ears  with  black  wool,  and  to  those 
came  to  him  for  money  said  he  was  thick  of  hearing. 

4th  Off.  How  scurvy  proud  he  would  look  when  the  treas- 
ury was  full !   Well,  let  him  go.  201 

1st  Off.  Yes,  and  the  chippings  of  the  buttery  fly  after  him, 
to  scour  his  gold  chain. ^ 

1  Cf.  Merchant  of  Venice,  iv,  i. 

2  Stewards  wore  a  gold  chain  as  a  symbol  of  their  office. 


546  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  hi. 

Z>//r/^.  Leave  US.  [Exeunf  Officers. 

What  do  you  think  of  these  ? 

Bos.  That  these  are  rogues  that  in's  prosperity, 
But  to  have  waited  on  his  fortune,  could  have  wished 
His  dirty  stirrup  riveted  through  their  noses, 
And  followed  after's  mule,  like  a  bear  in  a  ring ; 
Made  their  first-born  intelligencers^ ;  thought  none  happy 
But  such  as  were  born  under  his  blest  planet,  210 

And  wore  his  livery :  and  do  these  lice  drop  off  now  ? 
Well,  never  look  to  have  the  like  again  : 
He  hath  left  a  sort  of  flattering  rogues  behind  him ; 
Their  doom  must  follow.     Princes  pay  flatterers 
In  their  own  money  :  flatterers  dissemble  their  vices, 
And  they  dissemble  their  lies  ;  that's  justice. 
Alas,  poor  gentleman  ! 

Diich.  Poor  !  he  hath  amply  filled  his  coflers. 

Bos.  Sure,  he  was  too  honest.     Pluto,^  the  god  of  riches. 
When  he's  sent  by  Jupiter  to  any  man,  220 

He  goes  limping,  to  signify  that  wealth 

That  comes  on  God's  name  comes  slowly ;  but  wheh  he's  sent 
On  the  devil's  errand,  he  rides  post  and  comes  in  by  scuttles. 
Let  me  show  you  what  a  most  unvalued  jewel 
You  have  in  a  wanton  humour  thrown  away, 
To  bless  the  man  shall  find  him.     He  was  an  excellent 
Courtier  and  most  faithful ;  a  soldier  that  thought  it 
As  beastly  to  know  his  own  value  too  little 
As  devilish  to  acknowledge  it  too  much. 
Both  his  virtue  and  form  deserved  a  far  better  fortune  :      230 
His   discourse  rather  delighted  to  judge   itself  than  show 
itself: 

1  Tale-bearers. 

2  Plutus.    Cf.  this  passage  with  Bacon's  Essay  Of  Riches, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  547 

His  breast  was  filled  with  all  perfection, 
And  yet  it  seemed  a  private  whispering-room, 
It  made  so  little  noise  oft. 

Duch.  But  he  was  basely  descended. 

Bos.  Will  you  make  yourself  a  mercenary  herald, 
Rather  to  examine  men's  pedigrees  than  virtues  ? 
You  shall  want  him  : 

For  know  an  honest  statesman  to  a  prince 
Is  like  a  cedar  planted  by  a  spring ;  240 

The  spring  bathes  the  tree's  root,  the  grateful  tree 
Rewards  it  with  his  shadow :  you  have  not  done  so. 
I  would  sooner  swim  to  the  Bermoothes  ^  on 
Two  politicians'  rotten  bladders,  tied 
Together  with  an  intelligencer's  heart-string. 
Than  depend  on  so  changeable  a  prince's  favour. 
Fare  thee  well,  Antonio  !  since  the  malice  of  the  world 
Would  needs  down  with  thee,  it  cannot  be  said  yet 
That  any  ill  happened  unto  thee,  considering  thy  fall 
Was  accompanied  with  virtue.^  250 

Duch.  O,  you  render  me  excellent  music  ! 

Bos.  Say  you? 

Duch.  This  good  one  that  you  speak  of  is  my  husband. 

Bos.  Do  I  not  dream  !  can  this  ambitious  age 
Have  so  much  goodness  in't  as  to  prefer 
A  man  merely  for  worth,  without  these  shadows 
Of  wealth  and  painted  honours  ?  possible  ? 

Duch.  I  have  had  three  children  by  him. 

1  The  Bermudas ;  so  Shakespeare  in  The  Tempest,  i,  2 :  — 

"  The  still  vex'd  Bermoothes." 

2  "  This  and  the  two  preceding  speeches  oi  Bosola  consist  partly  of  lines 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  read  as  prose,  and  partly  of  sentences  which 
will  not  admit  of  any  satisfactory  metrical  arrangement."  —  Dyce. 


^> 


548  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  ill. 

Bos.  Fortunate  lady  ! 
For  you  have  made  your  private  nuptial  bed 
The  humble  and  fair  seminary  of  peace.  260 

No  question  but  many  an  unbeneficed  scholar 
Shall  pray  for  you  for  this  deed,  and  rejoice 
That  some  preferment  in  the  world  can  yet 
Arise  from  merit.     The  virgins  of  your  land 
That  have  no  dowries  shall  hope  your  example 
Will  raise  them  to  rich  husbands.     Should  you  want 
Soldiers,  'twould  make  the  very  Turks  and  Moors 
Turn  Christians,  and  serve  you  for  this  act. 
Last,  the  neglected  poets  of  your  time. 

In  honour  of  this  trophy  of  a  man,  270 

Raised  by  that  curious  engine,  your  white  hand. 
Shall  thank  you,  in  your  grave,  for't ;  and  make  that 
More  reverend  than  all  the  cabinets 
Of  living  princes.     For  Antonio, 
His  fame  shall  likewise  flow  from  many  a  pen. 
When  heralds  shall  want  coats  ^  to  sell  to  men. 

Duch.  As  I  taste  comfort  in  this  friendly  speech, 
So  would  I  find  concealment. 

Bos.  O,  the  secret  of  my  prince. 
Which  I  will  wear  on  the  inside  of  my  heart !  280 

■    Duch.  You  shall  take  charge  of  all  my  coin  and  jewels, 
And  follow  him ;  for  he  retires  himself 
To  Ancona. 

Bos.  So. 

Duch.  Whither,  within  few  days, 
I  mean  to  follow  thee. 

Bos.  Let  me  think : 
I  would  wish  your  grace  to  feign  a  pilgrimage 
1  Coats-of-arms. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  549 

To  our  Lady  of  Loretto,  scarce  seven  leagues 
From  fair  Ancona ;  so  may  you  depart 
Your  country  with  more  honour,  and  your  flight 
Will  seem  a  princely  progress,  retaining 
Your  usual  train  about  you. 

Duch.  Sir,  your  direction  290 

Shall  lead  me  by  the  hand. 

Cari.  In  my  opinion, 
She  were  better  progress  to  the  baths  at  Lucca, 
Or  go  visit  the  Spa 

In  Germany ;  for,  if  you  will  believe  me, 
I  do  not  like  this  jesting  with  religion, 
This  feigned  pilgrimage. 

Duch.  Thou  art  a  superstitious  fool : 
Prepare  us  instantly  for  our  departure. 
Past  sorrows,  let  us  moderately  lament  them  ; 
For  those  to  come,  seek  wisely  to  prevent  them.  300 

{^Exeunt  Duchess  and  Cariola. 

Bos.  A  politician  is  the  devil's  quilted  anvil ; 
He  fashions  all  sins  on  him,  and  the  blows 
Are  never  heard  :  he  may  work  in  a  lady's  chamber. 
As  here  for  proof.     What  rests  but  I  reveal 
All  to  my  lord  ?     O,  this  base  quality 
Of  intelligencer  !  why,  every  quality  i'  the  world 
Prefers  but  gain  or  commendation  : 
Now  for  this  act  I  am  certain  to  be  raised. 
And  men  that  paint  weeds  to  the  life  are  praised.         \Exit, 


550  THE  DUCHESS  OF   MALFI.  [act  ill. 

Scene   III.^  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Cardinal's  Palace  at 

Rome. 

Enter  Cardinal,   Ferdinand,   Malatesti,   Pescara,  Delio, 
and  Silvio. 

Card.  Must  we  turn  soldier,  then? 

Mai.  The  emperor. 
Hearing  your  worth  that  way,  ere  you  attained 
This  reverend  garment,  joins  you  in  commission 
With  the  right  fortunate  soldier  the  Marquis  of  Pescara, 
And  the  famous  Lannoy. 

Card.  He  that  had  the  honour 
Of  taking  the  French  king  prisoner  ?  ^ 

Mai.  The  same. 
Here's  a  plot  drawn  for  a  new  fortification 
At  Naples. 

Ferd.  This  great  count  Malatesti,  I  perceive. 
Hath  got  employment  ? 

Delio.  No  employment,  my  lord  ; 
A  marginal  note  in  the  muster-book,  that  he  is  jo 

A  voluntary  lord. 

Ferd.  Pie's  no  soldier. 

Delio.  He  has  worn  gunpowder  in's  hollow  tooth  for  the 
toothache. 

Sil.  He  comes  to  the  leaguer  ^  with  a  full  intent 
To  eat  fresh  beef  and  garlic,  means  to  stay 
Till  the  scent  be  gone,  and  straight  return  to  court. 

1  "  Another  scene  that  hovers  between  prose  and  verse."  —  Dyce. 

2  In  1525,  Francis  I  was  defeated  at  Pavia,  by  the  generals  of  Charles 
V,  —  Pescara,  Bourbon,  and  Lannoy,  viceroy  of  Naples,  —  and  surrendered 
to  the  last-mentioned. 

8  Camp. 


SCENE  III.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  55 1 

Delio.  He  hath  read  all  the  late  service 
As  the  city  chronicle  relates  it ; 
And  keeps  two  pewterers  going,  only  to  express 
Battles  in  model. 

Sil.  Then  he'll  fight  by  the  book. 

Delio.  By  the  almanac,  I  think,  20 

To  choose  good  days  and  shun  the  critical ; 
That's  his  mistress'  scarf. 

Sil.  Yes,  he  protests 
He  would  do  much  for  that  taffeta. 

Delio.  I  think  he  would  run  away  from  a  battle. 
To  save  it  from  taking  prisoner. 

Sil.  He  is  horribly  afraid 
Gunpowder  will  spoil  the  perfume  on't. 

Delio.  I  saw  a  Dutchman  break  his  pate  once 
For  calhng  him  pot-gun  ;  he  made  his  head  30 

Have  a  bore  in't  like  a  musket. 

Sil.  I  would  he  had  made  a  touchhole  to't. 
He  is  indeed  a  guarded  ^  sumpter-cloth, 
Only  for  the  remove  of  the  court. 

Enter  Bosola. 

Pes.  Bosola  arrived  !  what  should  be  the  business  ? 

Some  falling  out  amongst  the  cardinals. 

These  factions  amongst  great  men,  they  are  like 

Foxes,  when  their  heads  are  divided. 

They  carry  fire  in  their  tails,  and  all  the  country 

About  them  goes  to  wreck  for't. 

Sil  What's  that  Bosola?  40 

Delio.  I  knew  him  in  Padua  —  a  fantastical  scholar,  like 

such  who  study  to  know  how  many  knots  was  in  Hercules' 

1  With  facings,  trimmings. 


552  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  III. 

club,  of  what  colour  Achilles'  beard  was,  or  whether  Hector 
were  not  troubled  with  the  toothache.  He  hath  studied  him- 
self half  blear-eyed  to  know  the  true  symmetry  of  Caesar's 
nose  by  a  shoeing-horn ;  and  this  he  did  to  gain  the  name 
of  a  speculative  man. 

Pes.  Mark  Prince  Ferdinand : 
A  very  salamander  lives  in's  eye. 
To  mock  the  eager  violence  of  fire.  50 

Sil.  That  cardinal  hath  made  more  bad  faces  with  his 
oppression  than  ever  Michael  Angelo  made  good  ones :  he 
lifts  up's  nose,  like  a  foul  porpoise  before  a  storm. 

Pes.  The  Lord  Ferdinand  laughs. 

Delio.  Like  a  deadly  cannon 
That  lightens  ere  it  smokes. 

Pes.  These  are  your  true  pangs  of  death, 
The  pangs  of  life  that  struggle  with  great  statesmen. 

Delia.  In  such  a  deformed  silence  witches  whisper  their 
charms. 

Card.  Doth  she  make  rehgion  her  riding- hood  60 

To  keep  her  from  the  sun  and  tempest  ? 

Ferd.  That, 
That  damns  her.     Methinks  her  fault  and  beauty. 
Blended  together,  show  Hke  leprosy. 
The  whiter,  the  fouler.     I  make  it  a  question 
Whether  her  beggarly  brats  were  ever  christened. 

Card.  I  will  instantly  solicit  the  state  of  Ancona 
To  have  them  banished. 

Ferd.  You  are  for  Loretto : 
I  shall  not  be  at  your  ceremony ;  fare  you  well.  — 
Write  to  the  Duke  of  Malfi,  my  young  nephew 
She  had  by  her  first  husband,  and  acquaint  him  70 

With's  mother's  honesty. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  553 

Bos.  I  will. 

Ferd.  Antonio  ! 
A  slave  that  only  smelled  of  ink  and  counters, 
And  never  in's  life  looked  like  a  gentleman, 
But  in  the  audit-time.  —  Go,  go  presently, 
Draw  me  out  an  hundred  and  fifty  of  our  horse, 
And  meet  me  at  the  fort-bridge.  {^Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  —  The  Shrine  of  our  Lady  of  Loretto. 
Enter  Two  Pilgrims. 

isf  Pil.  I  have  not  seen  a  goodlier  shrine  than  this  ; 
Yet  I  have  visited  many. 

2d  Pil.  The  Cardinal  of  Arragon 
Is  this  day  to  resign  his  cardinal's  hat : 
His  sister  duchess  likewise  is  arrived 
To  pay  her  vow  of  pilgrimage.     I  expect 
A  noble  ceremony. 

1st  Pil.  No  question.  —  They  come. 

Here  the  ceremony  of  the  Cardinal's  instalment,  in  the 
habit  of  a  soldier,  is  performed  by  his  delivering  up  his 
cross,  hat,  robes,  and  rifig,  at  the  shrine,  and  the  invest- 
ing of  him  with  sword,  helmet,  shield,  and  spurs ;  then 
Antonio,  the  Duchess,  and  their  children,  having  pre- 
sented themselves  at  the  shrine,  are,  by  a  form  of  banish- 
ment in  dumb-show  expressed  towards  them  by  the 
Cardinal  and  the  state  of  Ancona,  banished :  during  all 
which  ceremony,  this  ditty  is  sung,  to  very  solemn  music, 
by  divers  churchmen. 

Arms  and  honours  deck  thy  story, 
To  thy  fame's  eternal  glory  ! 


554  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  ill. 

Adverse  fortune  ever  fly  thee  ;  lo 

No  disastrous  fate  come  nigh  thee  ! 
I  alone  will  sing  thy  praises, 
Whom  to  honour  virtue  raises ; 
And  thy  study,  that  divine  is, 
Bent  to  martial  disciphne  is. 
Lay  aside  all  those  robes  lie  by  thee ; 
Crown  thy  arts  with  arms,  they'll  beautify  thee. 
O  worthy  of  worthiest  name,  adorned  in  this  manner. 
Lead  bravely  thy  forces  on  under  war's  warlike  banner  ! 
O,  mayst  thou  prove  fortunate  in  all  martial  courses  !  20 

Guide  thou  still  by  skill  in  arts  and  forces  ! 
Victory  attend  thee  nigh,  whilst  fame  sings  loud  thy  powers ; 
Triumphant  conquest  crown  thy  head,  and   blessings  pour 
down  showers  !  ^ 

\_Exeunt  all  except  the  Two  Pilgrims. 

1st  Pil.  Here's  a  strange  turn  of  state  !  who  would  have 
thought 
So  great  a  lady  would  have  matched  herself 
Unto  so  mean  a  person  ?  yet  the  cardinal 
Bears  himself  much  too  cruel. 

2d  Pil.  They  are  banished. 

1st  Pil.  But  I  would  ask  what  power  hath  this  state 
Of  Ancona  to  determine  of  a  free  prince  ? 

2d  Pil.  They  are  a  free  state,  sir,  and  her  brother  showed 
How  that  the  Pope,  forehearing  of  her  looseness,  31 

Hath  seized  into  the  protection  of  the  church 
The  dukedom  which  she  held  as  dowager. 

1st  Pil.  But  by  what  justice  ? 

2d  Pil.  Sure,  I  think  by  none, 

1  The  Quarto  of  1623  has  the  following  marginal  note :  "  The  Author 
disclaimes  this  Ditty  to  be  his." 


SCENE  v.]  THE   DUCHESS  OF   MALFI.  555 

Only  her  brother's  instigation. 

1st  Pil.  What  was  it  with  such  violence  he  took 
Off  from  her  finger  ? 

2d  Pil.  'Twas  her  wedding-ring ; 
Which  he  vowed  shortly  he  would  sacrifice 
To  his  revenge. 

1st  Pil.  Alas,  Antonio  ! 
If  that  a  man  be  thrust  into  a  well,  40 

No  matter  who  sets  hand  to't,  his  own  weight 
Will  bring  him  sooner  to  the  bottom.     Come,  let's  hence. 
Fortune  makes  this  conclusion  general, 
All  things  do  help  the  unhappy  man  to  fall.  \Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  —  Near  Loretto. 
Enter  Duchess,  Antonio,  Children,  Cariola,  a7id  Servants. 

Duch.  Banished  Ancona ! 

Ant.  Yes,  you  see  what  power 
Lightens  in  great  men's  breath. 

Duch.  Is  all  our  train 
Shrunk  to  this  poor  remainder? 

Ant.  These  poor  men. 
Which  have  got  Httle  in  your  service,  vow 
To  take  your  fortune  :  but  your  wiser  buntings,^ 
Now  they  are  fledged,  are  gone. 

Duch.  They  have  done  wisely. 
This  puts  me  in  mind  of  death  :  physicians  thus,^ 
With  their  hands  full  of  money,  use  to  give  o'er 
Their  patients. 

Ant.  Right  the  fashion  of  the  world  : 
From  decayed  fortunes  every  flatterer  shrinks ;  10 

1  Birds  of  the  sparrow  family.  2  cf.  Timon  of  Athens,  iii,  3. 


556  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  ill. 

Men  cease  to  build  where  the  foundation  sinks. 

Duch.  I  had  a  very  strange  dream  to-night. 

Ant  What  was't? 

Duch.  Methought  I  wore  my  coronet  of  state, 
And  on  a  sudden  all  the  diamonds 
Were  changed  to  pearls. 

Ant.  My  interpretation 
Is,  you'll  weep  shortly;  for  to  me  the  pearls 
Do  signify  your  tears. 

Duch.  The  birds  that  live  i'  the  field 
On  the  wild  benefit  of  nature  live 

Happier  than  we  ;  for  they  may  choose  their  mates,  20 

And  carol  their  sweet  pleasures  to  the  spring. 

Enter  Bosola  with  a  letter. 

Bos.  You  are  happily  o'erta'en. 

Duch.  From  my  brother? 

Bos.  Yes,  from  the  Lord  Ferdinand  your  brother 
All  love  and  safety. 

Duch.  Thou  dost  blanch  mischief, 
Wouldst  make  it  white.     See,  see,  like  to  calm  weather 
At  sea  before  a  tempest,  false  hearts  speak  fair 
To  those  they  intend  most  mischief.  \_Reads, 

'*  Send  Antonio  to  me ;  I  want  his  head  in  a  business." 
A  politic  equivocation  ! 

He  doth  not  want  your  counsel,  but  your  head ;  30 

That  is,  he  cannot  sleep  till  you  be  dead. 
And  here's  another  pitfall  that's  strewed  o'er 
With  roses  ;  mark  it,  'tis  a  cunning  one  :  \Reads. 

"  I  stand  engaged  for  your  husband  for  several  debts  at 
Naples :  let  not  that  trouble  him ;  I  had  rather  have  his 
heart  than  his  money  :  "  — 


SCENE  v.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  557 

And  I  believe  so  too. 

Bos.  What  do  you  believe  ?  , 

Duch.  That  he  so  much  distrusts  my  husband's  love 
He  will  by  no  means  beUeve  his  heart  is  with  him  40 

Until  he  sees  it :  the  devil  is  not  cunning  enough 
To  circumvent  us  in  riddles. 

Bos.  Will  you  reject  that  noble  and  free  league 
Of  amity  and  love  which  I  present  you  ? 

Duch.  Their  league  is  like  that  of  some  poHtic  kings, 
Only  to  make  themselves  of  strength  and  power 
To  be  our  after-ruin  :  tell  them  so. 

Bos.  And  what  from  you? 

Ant.  Thus  tell  him  ;  I  will  not  come. 

Bos.  And  what  of  this  ? 

Ant.  My  brothers  have  dispersed 
Blood-hounds  abroad  ;  which  till  I  hear  are  muzzled,  50 

No  truce,  though  hatched  with  ne'er  such  politic  skill, 
Is  safe,  that  hangs  upon  our  enemies'  will. 
I'll  not  come  at  them. 

Bos.  This  proclaims  your  breeding  : 
Every  small  thing  draws  a  base  mind  to  fear. 
As  the  adamant  draws  iron.     Fare  you  well,  sir : 
You  shall  shortly  hear  from's.  \_Exit. 

Duch.  I  suspect  some  ambush  : 
Therefore  by  all  my  love  I  do  conjure  you 
To  take  your  eldest  son,  and  fly  towards  Milan. 
Let  us  not  venture  all  this  poor  remainder 
In  one  unlucky  bottom. 

Ant.  You  counsel  safely.  60 

Best  of  my  Ufe,  farewell,  since  we  must  part : 
Heaven  hath  a  hand  in't ;  but  no  otherwise 
Than  as  some  curious  artist  takes  in  sunder 


558  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  hi. 

A  clock  or  watch,  when  it  is  out  of  frame, 
To  bring't  in  better  order. 

Duch.  I  know  not  which  is  best, 
To  see  you  dead,  or  part  with  you.  —  Farewell,  boy  : 
Thou  art  happy  that  thou  hast  not  understanding 
To  know  thy  misery ;  for  all  our  wit 

And  reading  brings  us  to  a  truer  sense  70 

Of  sorrow.  —  In  the  eternal  church,  sir, 
I  do  hope  we  shall  not  part  thus. 

Ant.  O,  be  of  comfort ! 
Make  patience  a  noble  fortitude. 
And  think  not  how  unkindly  we  are  used  : 
Man,  like  to  cassia,  is  proved  best  being  bruised. 

Duch.  Must  I,  like  a  slave-born  Russian, 
Account  it  praise  to  suffer  tyranny? 
And  yet,  O  Heaven,  thy  heavy  hand  is  in't ! 
I  have  seen  my  little  boy  oft  scourge  his  top. 
And  compared  myself  to't :  naught  made  me  e'er  80 

Go  right  but  Heaven's  scourge-stick. 

Ant.  Do  not  weep  : 
Heaven  fashioned  us  of  nothing,  and  we  strive 
To  bring  ourselves  to  nothing.  —  Farewell,  Cariola, 
And  thy  sweet  armful.  —  If  I  do  never  see  thee  more, 
Be  a  good  mother  to  your  little  ones. 
And  save  them  from  the  tiger  :   fare  you  well. 

Duch.  Let  me  look  upon  you  once  more,  for  that  speech 
Came  from  a  dying  father :  your  kiss  is  colder 
Than  that  I  have  seen  an  holy  anchorite 
Give  to  a  dead  man's  skull.  '  90 

Ant,  My  heart  is  turned  to  a  heavy  lump  of  lead, 
With  which  I  sound  my  danger :  fare  you  well. 

\^Ex€unt  Antonio  and  his  Son, 


SCENE  v.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  559 

Duch.  My  laurel  is  all  withered. 

Ca7'i.  Look,  madam,  what  a  troop  of  armed  men 
Make  towards  us. 

Duch.  O,  they  are  very  welcome  : 
When  fortune's  wheel  is  over- charged  with  princes, 
The  weight  makes  it  move  swift :  I  would  have  my  ruin 
Be  sudden. 

Re-enter  Bosola  visarded^  with  a  Guard. 

I  am  your  adventure,  am  I  not? 

Bos.  You  are  :  you  must  see  your  husband  no  more. 

Duch.  What  devil  art  thou  that  counterfeit'st  Heaven's 
thunder? 

Bos.  Is  that  terrible  ?  I  would  have  you  tell  me  whether 
Is  that  note  worse  that  frights  the  silly  birds  loi 

Out  of  the  corn,  or  that  which  doth  allure  them 
To  the  nets?  you  have  hearkened  to  the  last  too  much. 

Duch.  O  misery  !  like  to  a  rusty  o'er-charged  cannon, 
Shall  I  never  fly  in  pieces  ?  —  Come,  to  what  prison  ? 

Bos.  To  none. 

Duch.  Whither,  then? 

Bos.  To  your  palace. 

Duch.  I  have  heard 
That  Charon's  boat  serves  to  convey  all  o'er 
The  dismal  lake,  but  brings  none  back  again. 

Bos.  Your  brothers  mean  you  safety  and  pity. 

Duch.  Pity  !  no 

With  such  a  pity  men  preserve  alive 
Pheasants  and  quails,  when  they  are  not  fat  enough 
To  be  eaten. 

Bos.  These  are  your  children? 

Duch.  Yes. 


560  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  ill. 

Bos.  Can  they  prattle? 

Duch.  No ; 
But  I  intend,  since  they  were  born  accursed, 
Curses  shall  be  their  first  language. 

Bos.  Fie,  madam  ! 
Forget  this  base,  low  fellow,  — 

Duch.  Were  I  a  man, 
I'd  beat  that  counterfeit  face  into  thy  other. 

Bos.  One  of  no  birth. 

Duch.  Say  that  he  was  born  mean,  120 

Man  is  most  happy  when's  own  actions 
Be  arguments  and  examples  of  his  virtue. 

Bos.  A  barren,  beggarly  virtue. 

Duch.  I  prithee,  who  is  greatest?  can  you  tell? 
Sad  tales  befit  my  woe  :   I'll  tell  you  one. 
A  salmon,  as  she  swam  unto  the  sea. 
Met  with  a  dog-fish,  who  encounters  her 
With  this  rough  language  :  "  Why  art  thou  so  bold 
To  mix  thyself  with  our  high  state  of  floods,^ 
Being  no  eminent  courtier,  but  one  130 

That  for  the  calmest  and  fresh  time  o'  the  year 
Dost  live  in  shallow  rivers,  rank'st  thyself 
With  silly  smelts  and  shrimps?  and  darest  thou 
Pass  by  our  dog-ship  without  reverence?" 
"  O  !  "  quoth  the  salmon,  "  sister,  be  at  peace  : 
Thank  Jupiter  we  both  have  passed  the  net ! 
Our  value  never  can  be  truly  known. 
Till  in  the  fisher's  basket  we  be  shown : 
r  the  market  then  my  price  may  be  the  higher, 
Even  when  I  am  nearest  to  the  cook  and  fire."  140 

So  to  great  men  the  moral  may  be  stretched ; 

"^Ci.  II Henry  IV,  v,  2. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  56 1 

Men  oft  are  valued  high,  when  they're  most  wretched.  — 
But  come,  whither  you  please.     I  am  armed  'gainst  misery ; 
Bent  to  all  sways  of  the  oppressor's  will : 
There's  no  deep  valley  but  near  some  great  hill.       \_Exeunt. 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Duchess'  Palace  at  Malfi. 
Enter  Ferdinand  and  Bosola. 

Ferd.  How  doth  our  sister  duchess  bear  herself 
In  her  imprisonment? 

Bos  Nobly  :  I'll  describe  her. 
She's  sad  as  one  long  used  to't,  and  she  seems 
Rather  to  welcome  the  end  of  misery 
Than  shun  it ;  a  behaviour  so  noble 
As  gives  a  majesty  to  adversity : 
You  may  discern  the  shape  of  lovehness 
More  perfect  in  her  tears  than  in  her  smiles  : 
She  will  muse  four  hours  together ;  and  her  silence, 
Methinks,  expresseth  more  than  if  she  spake.  10 

Ferd.  Her  melancholy  seems  to  be  fortified 
With  a  strange  disdain. 

Bos.  'Tis  so ;  and  this  restraint, 
Like  English  mastiffs  that  grow  fierce  with  tying, 
Makes  her  too  passionately  apprehend 
Those  pleasures  she's  kept  from. 

Ferd.  Curse  upon  her  ! 
I  will  no  longer  study  in  the  book 
Of  another's  heart.     Inform  her  what  I  told  you.  \^Exit. 


562  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  IV. 

Enter  Duchess.* 

Bos.  All  comfort  to  your  grace  ! 

Duch.  I  will  have  none. 
Pray  thee,  why  dost  thou  wrap  thy  poisoned  pills 
In  gold  and  sugar  ?  20 

Bos.  Your  elder  brother,  the  Lord  Ferdinand, 
Is  come  to  visit  you,  and  sends  you  word, 
'Cause  once  he  rashly  made  a  solemn  vow 
Never  to  see  you  more,  he  comes  i'  the  night ; 
And  prays  you  gently  neither  torch  nor  taper 
Shine  in  your  chamber :  he  will  kiss  your  hand, 
And  reconcile  himself;  but  for  his  vow 
He  dares  not  see  you. 

Duch.  At  his  pleasure.  — 
Take  hence  the  lights.  —  He's  come. 

Enter  Ferdinand. 

Ferd.  Where  are  you?  30 

Duch.  Here,  sir. 

Ferd.  This  darkness  suits  you  well. 

Duch.  I  would  ask  your  pardon. 

Ferd.  You  have  it ; 
For  I  account  it  the  honourabl'st  revenge. 
Where  I  may  kill,  to  pardon.  —  Where  are  your  cubs? 

Duch.  Whom? 

Ferd.  Call  them  your  children ; 
For  though  our  national  law  distinguish  bastards 
From  true  legitimate  issue,  compassionate  nature 
Makes  them  all  equal. 

1  Dyce  suggests  that  here  the  audience  had  to  imagine  a  change  of 
scene  to  the  lodging  of  the  Duchess. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  563 

Duch.  Do  you  visit  me  for  this  ? 
You  violate  a  sacrament  o'  the  church 
Shall  make  you  howl  in  hell  for't. 

Ferd.  It  had  been  well,  40 

Could  you  have  lived  thus  always ;  for,  indeed. 
You  were  too  much  i'  the  light :  —  but  no  more ; 
I  come  to  seal  my  peace  with  you.     Here's  a  hand 

\_Gives  her  a  dead  man^s  hand. 
To  which  you  have  vowed  much  love ;  the  ring  upon't 
You  gave. 

Duch.  I  affectionately  kiss  it. 

Ferd.  Pray,  do,  and  bury  the  print  of  it  in  your  heart. 
I  will  leave  this  ring  with  you  for  a  love-token ; 
And  the  hand  as  sure  as  the  ring ;  and  do  not  doubt 
But  you  shall  have  the  heart  too  :  when  you  need  a  friend, 
Send  it  to  him  that  owned  it ;  you  shall  see  50 

Whether  he  can  aid  you. 

Duch.  You  are  very  cold  : 
I  fear  you  are  not  well  after  your  travel.  — 
Ha  !  lights  ! O,  horrible  ! 

Ferd.  Let  her  have  lights  enough.  \_Exit. 

Duch.  What  witchcraft  does  he  practise,  that  he  hath  left 
A  dead  man's  hand  here  ? 

\Here  is  discovered,  behind  a  traverse}  the  artificial 
figures  of  A^TTONio  and  his  Children,  appearing 
as  if  they  were  dead. 

Bos.  Look  you,  here's  the  piece  from  which  'twas  ta'en. 
He  doth  present  you  this  sad  spectacle. 
That,  now  you  know  directly  they  are  dead, 
Hereafter  you  may  wisely  cease  to  grieve  60 

For  that  which  cannot  be  recovered. 

1  Curtain. 


564  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  IV. 

Duch.  There  is  not  between  Heaven  and  earth  one  wish 
I  stay  for  after  this  :  it  wastes  me  more 
Than  were't  my  picture,  fashioned  out  of  wax, 
Stuck  with  a  magical  needle,  and  then  buried 
In  some  foul  dunghill ;  and  yond's  an  excellent  property 
For  a  tyrant,  which  I  would  account  mercy. 

Bos.  What's  that? 

Duch.  If  they  would  bind  me  to  that  lifeless  trunk, 
And  let  me  freeze  to  death. 

Bos.  Come,  you  must  live. 

Duch.  That's  the  greatest  torture  souls  feel  in  hell,  70 

In  hell,  that  they  must  live,  and  cannot  die.^ 
Portia,  I'll  new  kindle  thy  coals  again, 
And  revive  the  rare  and  almost  dead  example 
Of  a  loving  wife. 

Bos.  O,  fie  !  despair?  remember 
You  are  a  Christian. 

Duch.  The  church  enjoins  fasting: 
I'll  starve  myself  to  death. 

Bos.  Leave  this  vain  sorrow. 
Things  being  at  the  worst  begin  to  mend :  the  bee 
When  he  hath  shot  his  sting  into  your  hand, 
May  then  play  with  your  eyelid.  80 

Duch.  Good  comfortable  fellow. 
Persuade  a  wretch  that's  broke  upon  the  wheel 
To  have  all  h^  bones  new  set ;  entreat  him  live 
To  be  executed  again.     Who  must  despatch  me  ? 
I  account  this  world  a  tedious  theatre. 
For  I  do  play  a  part  in't  'gainst  my  will. 

Bos.  Come,  be  of  comfort ;  I  will  save  your  life. 

Duch.  Indeed,  I  have  not  leisure  to  tend 

1  Cf.  Dante,  Inferno,  iii,  46. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  565 

So  small  abusiness. 

Bos.  Now,  by  my  life,  I  pity  you. 

Duch.  Thou  art  a  fool,  then,  90 

To  waste  thy  pity  on  a  thing  so  wretched 
As  cannot  pity  itself.     I  am  full  of  daggers. 
Puff,  let  me  blow  these  vipers  from  me. 

Enter  Servant. 

What  are  you? 

Serv.  One  that  wishes  you  long  life. 

Duch.  I  would  thou  wert  hanged  for  the  horrible  curse 
Thou  hast  given  me  :  I  shall  shortly  grow  one 
Of  the  miracles  of  pity.     I'll  go  pray ;  — 
No,  I'll  go  curse. 

Bos.  O,  fie  ! 

Duch.  I  could  curse  the  stars. 

Bos.  O,  fearful. 

Duch.  And  those  three  smiHng  seasons  of  the  year         100 
Into  a  Russian  winter :  nay,  the  world 
To  its  first  chaos. 

Bos.  Look  you,  the  stars  shine  still. 

Duch.  O,  but  you  must 
Remember,  my  curse  hath  a  great  way  to  go.  — 
Plagues,  that  make  lanes  through  largest  famihes, 
Consume  them  !  — 

Bos,  Fie,  lady  ! 

Duch.  Let  them,  hke  tyrants. 
Never  be  remembered  but  for  the  ill  they  have  done ; 
Let  all  the  zealous  prayers  of  mortified 
Churchmen  forget  them  !  — 

Bos.  O,  uncharitable  !  no 

Duch.  Let  Heaven  a  little  while  cease  crowning  martyrs, 


566  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  iv. 

To  punish  them  !  — 

Go,  howl  them  this,  and  say,  I  long  to  bleed : 

It  is  some  mercy  when  men  kill  with  speed.  \_Exit 

Re-enter  Ferdinand. 

Ferd.  Excellent,  as  I  would  wish  ;  she's  plagued  in  art : 
These  presentations  are  but  framed  in  wax 
By  the  curious  master  in  that  quality, 
Vincentio  Lauriola,  and  she  takes  them 
For  true  substantial  bodies. 

Bos.  Why  do  you  do  this?  120 

Ferd.  To  bring  her  to  despair. 

Bos.  Faith,  end  here, 
And  go  no  farther  in  your  cruelty : 
Send  her  a  penitential  garment  to  put  on 
Next  to  her  delicate  skin,  and  furnish  her 
With  beads  and  prayer-books. 

Ferd.  Damn  her  !  that  body  of  hers, 
While  that  my  blood  ran  pure  in't,  was  more  worth 
Than  that  which  thou  wouldst  comfort,  called  a  soul. 
I  will  send  her  masks  of  common  courtezans, 
Have  her  meat  served  up  by  bawds  and  ruffians,  130 

And,  'cause  she'll  needs  be  mad,  I  am  resolved 
To  remove  forth  the  common  hospital 
All  the  mad- folk,  and  place  them  near  her  lodging ; 
There  let  them  practise  together,  sing  and  dance. 
And  act  their  gambols  to  the  full  o'  the  moon : 
If  she  can  sleep  the  better  for  it,  let  her. 
Your  work  is  almost  ended. 

Bos.  Must  I  see  her  again? 

Ferd.  Yes. 

Bos.  Never. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  567 

Ferd.  You  must. 

Bos.  Never  in  mine  own  shape  ; 
That's  forfeited  by  my  intelHgence  140 

And  this  last  cruel  lie  :  when  you  send  me  next, 
The  business  shall  be  comfort. 

Ferd.  Very  likely ; 
Thy  pity  is  nothing  of  kin  to  thee.     Antonio 
Lurks  about  Milan  :  thou  shalt  shortly  thither, 
To  feed  a  fire  as  great  as  my  revenge. 
Which  never  will  slack  till  it  have  spent  his  fuel : 
Intemperate  agues  make  physicians  cruel.  \_Fxeunf. 

Scene  II.  —  Another  Room  in  the  Duchess'  Lodging. 
Enter  Duchess  and  Cariola. 

Duch.  What  hideous  noise  was  that? 

Cari.  'Tis  the  wild  consort^ 
Of  madmen,  lady,  which  your  tyrant  brother 
Hath  placed  about  your  lodging :  this  tyranny, 
I  think,  was  never  practised  till  this  hour. 

Duch.  Indeed,  I  thank  him  :  nothing  but  noise  and  folly 
Can  keep  me  in  my  right  wits  ;  whereas  reason 
And  silence  make  me  stark  mad.     Sit  down ; 
Discourse  to  me  some  dismal  tragedy. 

Cari.  O,  'twill  increase  your  melancholy. 

Duch.  Thou  art  deceived  :  10 

To  hear  of  greater  grief  would  lessen  mine. 
This  is  a  prison? 

Cari.  Yes,  but  you  shall  live 
To  shake  this  durance  off. 

Duch.  Thou  art  a  fool : 

1  Company. 


568  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  IV. 

The  robin-redbreast  and  the  nightingale 
Never  live  long  in  cages. 

Cari.  Pray,  dry  your  eyes. 
What  think  you  of,  madam  ? 

Duch.  Of  nothing; 
When  I  muse  thus,  I  sleep. 

Cari.  Like  a  madman,  with  your  eyes  open? 

Duch.  Dost  thou  think  we  shall  know  one  another 
In  the  other  world  ? 

Cari.  Yes,  out  of  question.  ap 

Duch.  O,  that  it  were  possible  we  might 
But  hold  some  two  days'  conference  with  the  dead  ! 
From  them  I  should  learn  somewhat,  I  am  sure, 
I  never  shall  know  here.     I'll  tell  thee  a  miracle  ; 
I  am  not  mad  yet,  to  my  cause  of  sorrow : 
The  Heaven  o'er  my  head  seems  made  of  molten  brass, 
The  earth  of  flaming  sulphur,  yet  I  am  not  mad. 
I  am  acquainted  with  sad  misery 
As  the  tanned  galley-slave  is  with  his  oar ; 
Necessity  makes  me  suffer  constandy,  30 

And  custom  makes  it  easy.     Who  do  I  look  like  now? 

Cari.  Like  to  your  picture  in  the  gallery, 
A  deal  of  life  in  show,  but  none  in  practice ; 
Or  rather  like  some  reverend  monument 
Whose  ruins  are  even  pitied. 

Duch.  Very  proper ; 
And  Fortune  seems  only  to  have  her  eyesight 
To  behold  my  tragedy.  —  How  now  ! 
What  noise  is  that? 

Enter  Servant. 
Serv.  I  am  come  to  tell  you 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  569 

Your  brother  hath  intended  you  some  sport. 

A  great  physician,  when  the  Pope  was  sick  40 

Of  a  deep  melancholy,  presented  him 

With  several  sorts  of  madmen,  which  wild  object 

Being  full  of  change  and  sport,  forced  him  to  laugh. 

And  so  the  imposthume  broke  :  the  self-same  cure 

The  duke  intends  on  you. 

Duch.  Let  them  come  in. 

Serv.  There's  a  mad  lawyer ;  and  a  secular  priest ; 
A  doctor  that  hath  forfeited  his  wits 
By  jealousy ;  an  astrologian 
That  in  his  works  said  such  a  day  o'  the  month 
Should  be  the  day  of  doom,  and,  failing  oft,  50 

Ran  mad ;  an  English  tailor  crazed  i'  the  brain 
With  the  study  of  new  fashions  ;  a  gentleman-usher 
Quite  beside  himself  with  care  to  keep  in  mind 
The  number  of  his  lady's  salutations, 
Or  "  How  do  you,"  she  employed  him  in  each  morning ; 
A  farmer,  too,  an  excellent  knave  in  grain. 
Mad  'cause  he  was  hindered  transportation : 
And  let  one  broker  that's  mad  loose  to  these, 
You'd  think  the  devil  were  among  them. 

Duch.  Sit,  Cariola.  —  Let  them  loose  when  you  please,  60 
For  I  am  chained  to  endure  all  your  tyranny. 

Enter  Madmen. 

Here  this  Song  is  sung  to  a  dismal  kind  of  music  by  a 
Madman. 

O,  let  us  howl  some  heavy  note, 

Some  deadly  dogged  howl, 
Sounding  as  from  the  threatening  throat 

Of  beasts  and  fatal  fowl ! 


5  70  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  IV. 

As  ravens,  screech-owls,  bulls,  and  bears, 

We'll  bell,^  and  bawl  our  parts. 
Till  irksome  noise  have  cloyed  your  ears 

And  corrosived  your  hearts. 
At  last,  whenas  our  quire  wants  breath,  70 

Our  bodies  being  blest. 
We'll  sing,  like  swans,  to  welcome  death. 

And  die  in  love  and  rest. 

1st  Madman.  Doom's-day  not  come  yet !  I'll  draw  it 
nearer  by  a  perspective,  or  make  a  glass  that  shall  set  all 
the  world  on  fire  upon  an  instant.  I  cannot  sleep ;  my 
pillow  is  stuffed  with  a  litter  of  porcupines. 

2d  Madman.  Hell  is  a  mere  glass-house,  where  the  devils 
are  continually  blowing  up  women's  souls  on  hollow  irons, 
and  the  fire  never  goes  out.  80 

1st  Madman.  I  have  skill  in  heraldry. 

2d  Madman.  Hast? 

1st  Madman.  You  do  give  for  your  crest  a  wood-cock's 
head  with  the  brains  picked  out  on't ;  you  are  a  very  ancient 
gentleman. 

3d  Madman.  Greek  is  turned  Turk :  we  are  only  to  be 
saved  by  the  Helvetian  translation. 

1st  Madman.  Come  on,  sir,  I  will  lay  the  law  to  you. 

2d  Madman.  O,  rather  lay  a  corrosive  :  the  law  will  eat 
to  the  bone.  90 

jd  Madman.  He  that  drinks  but  to  satisfy  nature  is 
damned. 

4th  Madman.  If  I  had  my  glass  here,  I  would  show  a 
sight  should  make  all  the  women  here  call  me  mad  doctor. 

1  Bellow;  so  Chaucer,  "As  loud  as  belleth  wind  in  helle."  —  House  of 
Fame,  iii,  713. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  571 

1st  Madman.  What's  he?  a  rope-maker? 

2d  Mad77ian.  No,  no,  no,  a  snuffling  knave  that,  while  he 
shows  the  tombs,  will  have  his  hand  in  a  wench's  placket.^ 

J d  Madman.  Woe  to  the  caroche^  that  brought  home  my 
wife  from  the  masque  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  !  it 
had  a  large  feather-bed  in  it.  100 

4th  Madman.  I  have  pared  the  devil's  nails  forty  times, 
roasted  them  in  raven's  eggs,  and  cured  agues  with  them. 

jd  Madman.  Get  me  three  hundred  milchbats,  to  make 
possets  to  procure  sleep. 

4th  Madman.  All  the  college  may  throw  their  caps  at  me  : 
I  have  made  a  soap-boiler  costive ;  it  was  my  masterpiece. 
\Here   a   dance  of  Eight    Madmen,   with    music 
answerable  thereto;  after  which,  Bosola,  like 
an  Old  Man,  enters. 

Duch.  Is  he  mad  too? 

Sefv.  Pray,  question  him.     I'll  leave  you. 

\_Exeunt  Servant  and  Madmen. 

Bos.  I  am  come  to  make  thy  tomb. 

Duch.  Ha  !  my  tomb  !  no 

Thou  speak'st  as  if  I  lay  upon  my  deathbed, 
Gasping  for  breath  :  dost  thou  perceive  me  sick  ? 

Bos.  Yes,  and  the  more  dangerously,  since  thy  sickness  is 
insensible. 

Duch.  Thou  art  not  mad,  sure  :  dost  thou  know  me  ? 

Bos.  Yes. 

Duch.  Who  am  I  ? 

Bos.  Thou  art  a  box  of  worm-seed,  at  best  but  a  salva- 
tory  ^  of  green  mummy.'*     What's  this  flesh  ?  a  Httle  crudded 

1  Petticoat.  2  Coach.  8  A  place  where  anything  is  preserved. 

■*  Mummies  were  used  for  medicinal  purposes.  "  The  Egyptian  mum- 
mies, which    Cambyses  or  time   hath   spared,  avarice   now  consumeth. 


572  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  iv. 

milk,  fantastical  puff-paste.  Our  bodies  are  weaker  than 
those  paper-prisons  boys  use  to  keep  flies  in ;  more  con- 
temptible, since  ours  is  to  preserve  earth-worms.  Didst 
thou  ever  see  a  lark  in  a  cage?  Such  is  the  soul  in  the 
body  :  this  world  is  like  her  little  turf  of  grass,  and  the 
Heaven  o'er  our  heads,  like  her  looking-glass,  only  gives  us 
a  miserable  knowledge  of  the  small  compass  of  our  prison. 

Duch.  Am  not  I  thy  duchess?  127 

Bos.  Thou  art  some  great  woman,  sure,  for  riot  begins  to 
sit  on  thy  forehead  (clad  in  grey  hairs)  twenty  years  sooner 
than  on  a  merry  milkmaid's.  Thou  sleepest  worse  than  if 
a  mouse  should  be  forced  to  take  up  her  lodging  in  a  cat's 
ear :  a  Httle  infant  that  breeds  its  teeth,  should  it  lie  with 
thee,  would  cry  out,  as  if  thou  wert  the  more  unquiet  bed- 
fellow. 

Duch.  I  am  Duchess  of  Malfi  still. 

Bos.  That  makes  thy  sleep  so  broken  : 
Glories  like  glow-worms,  afar  off  shine  bright. 
But  looked  to  near,  have  neither  heat  nor  light.^ 

Duch.  Thou  art  very  plain.  139 

Bos.  My  trade  is  to  flatter  the  dead,  not  the  living ;  I  am 
a  tomb- maker. 

Duch.  And  thou  comest  to  make  my  tomb  ? 

Bos.  Yes. 

Duch.  Let  me  be  a  little  merry  :  —  of  what  stufl"  wilt  thou 
make  it? 

Bos.  Nay  resolve  me  first,  of  what  fashion  ? 

Duch.  Why  do  we  grow  fantastical  in  our  deathbed  ?  do 
we  affect  fashion  in  the  grave  ?  148 

Mummy  is  become  merchandize.    Mizraim   cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh 
is  sold  for  balsams."  —  Sir  Th.  Browne,  Urn  Burial. 

1  This  fine  couplet  is  found  also  in  Webster's  White  Devil. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  573 

Bos.  Most  ambitiously.  Princes'  images  on  their  tombs 
do  not  lie,  as  they  were  wont,  seeming  to  pray  up  to  Heaven  ; 
but  with  their  hands  under  their  cheeks,  as  if  they  died  of 
the  toothache  :  they  are  not  carved  with  their  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  stars ;  but  as  their  minds  were  wholly  bent  upon 
the  world,  the  self-same  way  they  seem  to  turn  their  faces.^ 

Duch.  Let  me  know  fully  therefore  the  effect 
Of  this  thy  dismal  preparation, 
This  talk,  fit  for  a  charnel. 

Bos.  Now  I  shall :  — 

Enter  Executioners,  with  a  coffin,  cords,  and  a  bell. 

Here  is  a  present  from  your  princely  brothers ; 
And  may  it  arrive  welcome,  for  it  brings 
Last  benefit,  last  sorrow. 

Duch.  Let  me  see  it :  160 

I  have  so  much  obedience  in  my  blood, 
I  wish  it  in  their  veins  to  do  them  good. 

Bos.  This  is  your  last  presence-chamber. 

Cari.  O  my  sweet  lady  ! 

Duch.  Peace  ;  it  affrights  not  me. 

Bos.  I  am  the  common  bellman, 
That  usually  is  sent  to  condemned  persons 
The  night  before  they  suffer. 

Duch.  Even  now  thou  said'st 
Thou  wast  a  tomb-maker. 

Bos.  'Twas  to  bring  you 
By  degrees  to  mortification.     Listen.  170 

1  This  apt  criticism  might  have  been  the  text  from  which  Ruskin  wrote 
his  chapter  on  the  funeral  monuments  of  Venice,  as  illustrating  the  worldly 
spirit  of  the  Renaissance.  See  Stones  of  Venice,  Vol,  H,  chap.  3,  edition 
of  1885. 


5  74  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  IV. 

Hark,  now  everything  is  still 
The  screech-owl  and  the  whistler  shrill  ^ 
Call  upon  our  dame  aloud, 
And  bid  her  quickly  don  her  shroud  ! 
Much  you  had  of  land  and  rent ; 
Your  length  in  clay's  now  competent : 
A  long  war  disturbed  your  mind ; 
Here  your  perfect  peace  is  signed. 
Of  what  is't  fools  make  such  vain  keeping? 
Sin  their  conception,  their  birth  weeping,  i8o 

Their  life  a  general  mist  of  error. 
Their  death  a  hideous  storm  of  terror. 
Strew  your  hair  with  ])owders  sweet. 
Don  clean  linen,  bathe  your  feet. 
And  (the  foul  fiend  more  to  check) 
A  crucifix  let  bless  your  neck : 
'Tis  now  full  tide  'tween  night  and  day ; 
End  your  groan,  and  come  away. 
Cari.  Hence,  villains,  tyrants,  murderers  !  alas  ! 
What  will  you  do  with  my  lady? —  Call  for  help.  190 

Duch.  To  whom?  to  our  next  neighbours?  they  are  mad- 
folks. 
Bos.  Remove  that  noise. 
Duch.  Farewell,  Cariola. 
In  my  last  will  I  have  not  much  to  give  : 
A  many  hungry  guests  have  fed  upon  me ; 
Thine  will  be  a  poor  reversion. 
Cari.  I  will  die  with  her. 

Duch.  I  pray  thee,  look  thou  giv'st  my  little  boy 
Some  syrup  for  his  cold,  and  let  the  girl 

1  Cf.  Spenser,  Faerie  Queene,  Bk.  H,  chap,  xii,  st.  36 :  — 
"  The  whistler  shrill,  that  whoso  heares  doth  dy." 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  575 

Say  her  prayers  ere  she  sleep. 

[Cariola  is  forced  out  by  the  Executioners. 
Now  what  you  please  : 
What  death? 

Bos.  Strangling ;  here  are  your  executioners. 

Duch.  I  forgive  them  :  200 

The  apoplexy,  catarrh,  or  cough  o'  the  lungs, 
Would  do  as  much  as  they  do. 

Bos.  Doth  not  death  fright  you  ? 

Duch.  Who  would  be  afraid  on't, 
Knowing  to  meet  such  excellent  company 
In  the  other  world  ? 

Bos.  Yet,  methinks, 
The  manner  of  your  death  should  much  afflict  you  : 
This  cord  should  terrify  you. 

Duch.  Not  a  whit : 
What  would  it  pleasure  me  to  have  my  throat  cut 
With  diamonds  ?  or  to  be  smothered 

With  cassia  ?  or  to  be  shot  to  death  with  pearls  ?  210 

I  know  death  hath  ten  thousand  several  doors 
For  men  to  take  their  exits ;  and  'tis  found 
They  go  on  such  strange  geometrical  hinges, 
You  may  open  them  both  ways  ;  any  way,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
So  I  were  out  of  your  whispering.     Tell  my  brothers 
That  I  perceive  death,  now  I  am  well  awake, 
Best  gift  is  they  can  give  or  I  can  take. 
I  would  fain  put  off  my  last  woman's  fault, 
I'd  not  be  tedious  to  you. 

1st  Execut.  We  are  ready. 

Duch.  Dispose  my  breath  how  please  you ;  but  my  body 
Bestow  upon  my  women,  will  you  ? 

1st  Execut,  Yes.  221 


576  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  IV. 

Duch.  Pull,  and  pull  strongly,  for  your  able  strength 
Must  pull  down  Heaven  upon  me  :  — 
Yet  stay ;  Heaven-gates  are  not  so  highly  arched 
As  princes'  palaces ;  they  that  enter  there 
Must  go  upon  their  keees  {kneels).  —  Come,  violent  death, 
Serve  for  mandragora  to  make  me  sleep  !  — 
Go  tell  my  brothers,  when  I  am  laid  out. 
They  then  may  feed  in  quiet. 

\The  Executioners  strangle  the  Duchess,' 

Bos.  Where's  the  waiting  woman  ?  230 

Fetch  her  :  some  other  strangle  the  children. 

[Cariola  and  Children  are  bi'ought  in  by  the  Exe- 
cutioners ;  who  presently  strangle  the  Children. 
Look  you,  there  sleeps  your  mistress. 

Cari.  O,  you  are  damned 
Perpetually  for  this  !     My  turn  is  next, 
Is't  not  so  ordered? 

1  "  All  the  several  parts  of  the  dreadful  apparatus  with  which  the  Duchess's 
death  is  ushered  in,  are  not  more  remote  from  the  conceptions  of  ordinary 
vengeance,  than  the  strange  character  of  suffering  which  they  seem  to  bring 
upon  their  victim,  is  beyond  the  imagination  of  ordinary  poets.  As  they 
are  not  like  inflictions  of  this  life,  so  her  language  seems  not  of  this  world. 
She  has  lived  among  horrors  till  she  is  become  '  native  and  endowed  unto 
that  element.'  She  speaks  the  dialect  of  despair,  her  tongue  has  a  smatch 
of  Tartarus  and  the  souls  in  bale.  What  are  '  Luke's  iron  crown,'  the 
brazen  bull  of  Perillus,  Procrustes's  bed,  to  the  waxen  images  which  coun- 
terfeit death,  to  the  wild  masque  of  madmen,  the  tomb-maker,  the  bell-man, 
the  living  person's  dirge,  the  mortification  by  degrees !  To  move  a  horror 
skilfully,  to  touch  a  soul  to  the  quick,  to  lay  upon  fear  as  much  as  it  can 
bear,  to  wean  and  weary  a  life  till  it  is  ready  to  drop,  and  then  step  in  v/ith 
mortal  instruments  to  take  its  last  forfeit;  this  only  a  Webster  can  do. 
Writers  of  an  inferior  genius  may  '  upon  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate,' 
but  they  cannot  do  this.  They  mistake  quantity  for  quality,  they  '  terrify 
babes  with  painted  devils,'  but  they  know  not  how  a  soul  is  capable  of 
being  moved;  their  terrors  want  dignity,  their  affrightments  are  without 
decorum."  —  C.  Lamb, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  577 

Bos.  Yes,  and  I  am  glad 
You  are  so  well  prepared  for't 

Cari.  You  are  deceived,  sir, 
I  am  not  prepared  for't,  I  will  not  die ; 
I  will  first  come  to  my  answer,  and  know 
How  I  have  offended. 

Bos.  Come,  despatch  her.  — 
You  kept  her  counsel ;  now  you  shall  keep  ours. 

Cari.  I  will  not  die,  I  must  not ;  I  am  contracted 
To  a  young  gentleman. 

1st  Execut.  Here's  your  wedding-ring.  240 

Cari.  Let  me  but  speak  with  the  duke ;  I'll  discover 
Treason  to  his  person. 

Bos.  Delays  :  —  throttle  her. 

1st  Execut.  She  bites  and  scratches. 

Cari.  If  you  kill  me  now, 
I  am  damned ;  I  have  not  been  at  confession 
This  two  years. 

Bos.  {to  Executioners) .     When  ? 

\The  Executioners  strangle  Cariola. 

Bear  her  into  the  next  room  ; 
Let  these  He  still. 

{^Exeunt  the  Executioners  with  the  body  of  Cariola. 

Enter  Ferdinand. 

Ferd.  Is  she  dead? 

Bos.  She  is  what 
You'd  have  her.     But  here  begins  your  pity  : 

\_Shows  the  Children  strangled. 
Alas,  how  have  these  offended  ? 

Ferd.  The  death 
Of  young  wolves  is  never  to  be  pitied. 


578  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  iv. 

Bos.  Fix  your  eye  here. 

Ferd.  Constantly. 

Bos.  Do  you  not  weep?  250 

Other  sins  only  speak ;  murder  shrieks  out : 
The  element  of  water  moistens  the  earth, 
But  blood  flies  upwards  and  bedews  the  heavens. 

Ferd.  Cover  her  face  ;  mine  eyes  dazzle  ;  she  died  young.^ 

Bos.  I  think  not ;  her  infelicity 
Seemed  to  have  years  too  many. 

Ferd.  She  and  I  were  twins ; 
And  should  I  die  this  instant,  I  had  lived 
Her  time  to  a  minute. 

Bos.  It  seems  she  was  born  first : 
You  have  bloodily  approved  the  ancient  truth,  260 

That  kindred  commonly  do  worse  agree 
Than  remote  strangers. 

Ferd.  Let  me  see  her  face 
Again.     Why  didst  not  thou  pity  her?  what 
An  excellent  honest  man  mightst  thou  have  been, 
If  thou  hadst  borne  her  to  some  sanctuary  ! 
Or,  bold  in  a  good  cause,  opposed  thyself. 
With  thy  advanced  sword  above  thy  head. 
Between  her  innocence  and  my  revenge  ! 
I  bade  thee,  when  I  was  distracted  of  my  wits. 
Go  kill  my  dearest  friend,  and  thou  hast  done't.  270 

For  let  me  but  examine  well  the  cause  : 
What  was  the  meanness  of  her  match  to  me  ? 
Only  I  must  confess  I  had  a  hope. 
Had  she  continued  widow,  to  have  gained 
An  infinite  mass  of  treasure  by  her  death : 

1  This  is  one  of  those  lines,  peculiar  to  Webster,  in  which  a  character  is 
revealed  in  half-a-dozen  words. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  5  79 

And  what  was  the  main  cause  ?  her  marriage, 

That  drew  a  stream  of  gall  quite  through  my  heart. 

For  thee,  as  we  observe  in  tragedies 

That  a  good  actor  many  times  is  cursed 

For  playing  a  villain's  part,  I  hate  thee  for't,  280 

And,  for  my  sake,  say,  thou  hast  done  much  ill  well. 

Bos.  Let  me  quicken  your  memory,  for  I  perceive 
You  are  falling  into  ingratitude  :  I  challenge 
The  reward  due  to  my  service. 

Ferd.  I'll  tell  thee 
What  I'll  give  thee. 

Bos.  Do. 

Ferd.  I'll  give  thee  a  pardon 
For  this  murder. 

Bos.  Ha! 

Ferd.  Yes,  and  'tis 
The  largest  bounty  I  can  study  to  do  thee. 
By  what  authority  didst  thou  execute 
This  bloody  sentence? 

Bos.  By  yours. 

Ferd.  Mine  !  was  I  her  judge  ? 
Did  any  ceremonial  form  of  law  290 

Doom  her  to  not-being  ?  did  a  complete  jury 
Deliver  her  conviction  up  i'  the  court? 
Where  shalt  thou  find  this  judgment  registered, 
Unless  in  hell  ?    See,  like  a  bloody  fool, 
Thou'st  forfeited  thy  life,  and  thou  shalt  die  for't. 

Bos.  The  office  of  justice  is  perverted  quite 
When  one  thief  hangs  another.     Who  shall  dare 
To  reveal  this? 

Ferd.  O,  I'll  tell  thee  ; 
The  wolf  shall  find  her  grave,  and  scrape  it  up. 


580  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  iv. 

Not  to  devour  the  corpse,  but  to  discover  300 

The  horrid  murder.^ 

Bos.  You,  not  I,  shall  quake  for't. 

Ferd.  Leave  me. 

Bos.  I  will  first  receive  my  pension. 

Ferd.  You  are  a  villain. 

Bos.  When  your  ingratitude 
Is  judge,  I  am  so. 

Ferd.  O  horror, 
That  not  the  fear  of  him  which  binds  the  devils 
Can  prescribe  man  obedience  !  — 
Never  look  upon  me  more. 

Bos.  Why,  fare  thee  well. 
Your  brother  and  yourself  are  worthy  men  : 
You  have  a  pair  of  hearts  are  hollow  graves,  310 

Rotten,  and  rotting  others  ;  and  your  vengeance. 
Like  two  chained  bullets,  still  goes  arm  in  arm  :  ^ 
You  may  be  brothers ;  for  treason,  like  the  plague. 
Doth  take  much  in  a  blood.     I  stand  like  one 
That  long  hath  ta'en  a  sweet  and  golden  dream  : 
I  am  angry  with  myself,  now  that  I  wake. 

Ferd.  Get  thee  into  some  unknown  part  o'  the  world, 
That  I  may  never  see  thee.^ 

Bos.  Let  me  know 
Wherefore  I  should  be  thus  neglected.     Sir, 
I  served  your  tyranny,  and  rather  strove  320 

To  satisfy  yourself  than  all  the  world  : 

1  A  common  superstition. 

2  Cf.  Heywood's  A  Challenge  for  Beautie  : 

"  My  friend  and  I 
Like  two  chain-bullets,  side  by  side,  will  fly 
Thorow  the  jawes  of  death." 
8  Cf.  JCing  John,  iv,  2. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  58 1 

And  though  I  loathed  the  evil,  yet  I  loved 
You  that  did  counsel  it ;  and  rather  sought 
To  appear  a  true  servant  than  an  honest  man. 

Ferd.  I'll  go  hunt  the  badger  by  owl-light : 
'Tis  a  deed  of  darkness.  \_Exit. 

Bos.  He's  much  distracted.     Off,  my  painted  honour  ! 
While  with  vain  hopes  our  faculties  we  tire, 
We  seem  to  sweat  in  ice  and  freeze  in  fire. 
What  would  I  do,  were  this  to  do  again  ?  330 

I  would  not  change  my  peace  of  conscience 
For  all  the  wealth  of  Europe.  —  She  stirs  ;  here's  Hfe  :  — 
Return,  fair  soul,  from  darkness,  and  lead  mine 
Out  of  this  sensible  hell :  —  She's  warm,  she  breathes  :  — 
Upon  thy  pale  lips  I  will  melt  my  heart. 
To  store  them  with  fresh  colour.  —  Who's  there  ? 
Some  cordial  drink  !  —  Alas,  I  dare  not  call : 
So  pity  would  destroy  pity.  —  Her  eye  opes. 
And  Heaven  in  it  seems  to  ope,  that  late  was  shut, 
To  take  me  up  to  mercy. 

Duch.  Antonio  !  ^  340 

Bos.  Yes,  madam,  he  is  Uving ; 
The  dead  bodies  you  saw  were  but  feigned  statues  : 
He's  reconciled  to  your  brothers ;  the  Pope  hath  wrought 
The  atonement.^ 

Duch.  Mercy  !  \^Dies. 

Bos.  O,  she's  gone  again  !  there  the  cords  of  life  broke. 
O  sacred  innocence,  that  sweetly  sleeps 
On  turtles'  feathers,  whilst  a  guilty  conscience 

1  "  The  idea  of  making  the  Duchess  speak  after  she  has  been  strangled, 
was  doubtless  taken  from  the  death  of  Desdemona  in  Othello,  v,  last  scene." 
—  Dyce. 

2  Reconciliation. 


582  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  V. 

Is  a  black  register  wherein  is  writ 

All  our  good  deeds  and  bad,  a  perspective 

That  shows  us  hell !     That  we  cannot  be  suffered  350 

To  do  good  when  we  have  a  mind  to  it ! 

This  is  manly  sorrow ; 

These  tears,  I  am  very  certain,  never  grew 

In  my  mother's  milk :  my  estate  is  sunk 

Below  the  degree  of  fear  :  where  were 

These  penitent  fountains  while  she  was  living? 

O,  they  were  frozen  up  !     Here  is  a  sight 

As  direful  to  my  soul  as  is  the  sword 

Unto  a  wretch  hath  slain  his  father.     Come, 

I'll  bear  thee  hence,  360 

And  execute  thy  last  will ;  that's  deliver 

Thy  body  to  the  reverend  dispose 

Of  some  good  women  :  that  the  cruel  tyrant 

Shall  not  deny  me.     Then  I'll  post  to  Milan, 

Where  somewhat  I  will  speedily  enact 

Worth  my  dejection.  [^jc//. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  —  A  Public  Place  in  Milan. 
Enter  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Ant.  What  think  you  of  my  hope  of  reconcilement 
To  the  Arragonian  brethren? 

Delio.  I  misdoubt  it ; 
For  though  they  have  sent  their  letters  of  safe-conduct 
For  your  repair  to  Milan,  they  appear 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  583 

But  nets  to  entrap  you.     The  Marquis  of  Pescara, 

Under  whom  you  hold  certain  lands  in  cheat, 

Much  'gainst  his  noble  nature  hath  been  moved 

To  seize  those  lands ;  and  some  of  his  dependants 

Are  at  this  instant  making  it  their  suit 

To  be  invested  in  your  revenues.  10 

I  cannot  think  they  mean  well  to  your  life 

That  do  deprive  you  of  your  means  of  life, 

Your  living. 

Ant.  You  are  still  an  heretic 
To  any  safety  I  can  shape  myself. 

Delio.  Here  comes  the  marquis  :  I  will  make  myself 
Petitioner  for  some  part  of  your  land, 
To  know  whither  it  is  flying. 

Ant.  I  pray  do. 

Enter  Pescara. 

Delio.  Sir,  I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

Pes.  To  me  ? 

Delio.  An  easy  one  : 
There  is  the  Citadel  of  Saint  Bennet, 

With  some  demesnes,  of  late  in  the  possession  20 

Of  Antonio  Bologna,  —  please  you  bestow  them  on  me. 

Pes.  You  are  my  friend ;  but  this  is  such  a  suit. 
Not  fit  for  me  to  give,  nor  you  to  take. 

Delio.  No,  sir? 

Pes.  I  will  give  you  ample  reason  for't 
Soon  in  private  :  —  here's  the  cardinal's  mistress. 

Enter  Julia. 

Julia.  My  lord,  I  am  grown  your  poor  petitioner, 
And  should  be  an  ill  beggar,  had  I  not 


584  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  V. 

A  great  man's  letter  here,  the  cardinal's, 

To  court  you  in  my  favour.  [  Gives  a  letter. 

Pes.  He  entreats  for  you 
The  Citadel  of  Saint  Bennet,  that  belonged  30 

To  the  banished  Bologna. 

Julia.  Yes. 

Pes.  I  could  not  have  thought  of  a  friend  I  could  rather 
Pleasure  with  it :  'tis  yours. 

Julia.  Sir,  I  thank  you ; 
And  he  shall  know  how  doubly  I  am  engaged 
Both  in  your  gift,  and  speediness  of  giving 
Which  makes  your  grant  the  greater.  \_Exit. 

Ant.  How  they  fortify 
Themselves  with  my  ruin  ! 

Delia.  Sir,  I  am 
Little  bound  to  you. 
Pes.  Why? 

Velio.  Because  you  denied  this  suit  to  me,  and  gave't 
To  such  a  creature. 

Pes.  Do  you  know  what  it  was  ?  •  40 

It  was  Antonio's  land  ;  not  forfeited 
By  course  of  law,  but  ravished  from  his  throat 
By  the  cardinal's  entreaty  :  it  were  not  fit 
I  should  bestow  so  main  ^  a  piece  of  wrong 
Upon  my  friend  ;  'tis  a  gratification 
Only  due  to  a  strumpet,  for  it  is  injustice. 
Shall  I  sprinkle  the  pure  blood  of  innocents 
To  make  those  followers  I  call  my  friends 
Look  ruddier  upon  me  ?     I  am  glad 

This  land,  ta'en  from  the  owner  by  such  wrong,  50 

Returns  again  unto  so  foul  an  use 

1  Mighty,  important ;   {l^oXm  magnus) . 


SCENE  I.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  585 

As  salary  for  his  lust.     Learn,  good  Delio, 
To  ask  noble  things  of  me,  and  you  shall  find 
I'll  be  a  noble  giver. 

Delio.  You  instruct  me  well. 

Ant.  Why,  here's  a  man  now  would  fright  impudence, 
From  sauciest  beggars. 

Pes.  Prince  Ferdinand's  come  to  Milan, 
Sick,  as  they  give  out,  of  an  apoplexy ; 
But  some  say  'tis  a  frenzy :  I  am  going 
To  visit  him.  \_Exit 

Ant.  'Tis  a  noble  old  fellow. 

Delio.  What  course  do  you  mean  to  take,  Antonio?        60 

Ant.  This  night  I  mean  to  venture  all  my  fortune. 
Which  is  no  more  than  a  poor  Hngering  life. 
To  the  cardinal's  worst  of  malice  :  I  have  got 
Private  access  to  his  chamber ;  and  intend 
To  visit  him  about  the  mid  of  night. 
As  once  his  brother  did  our  noble  duchess. 
It  may  be  that  the  sudden  apprehension 
Of  danger,  —  for  I'll  go  in  mine  own  shape, — 
When  he  shall  see  it  fraight  ^  with  love  and  duty. 
May  draw  the  poison  out  of  him,  and  work  70 

A  friendly  reconcilement :  if  it  fail. 
Yet  it  shall  rid  me  of  this  infamous  calling ; 
For  better  fall  once  than  be  ever  falhng. 

Delio.  I'll  second  you  in  all  danger ;  and,  howe'er, 
My  life  keeps  rank  with  yours. 

Ant.  You  are  still  my  loved  and  best  friend.         \_Exeunt. 

1  Fraught. 


586    .  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  v. 

Scene  II.  —  A  Gallery  in  the  Cardinal's  Palace  at  Milan. 
Enter  Pescara  and  Doctor. 

Pes.  Now,  doctor,  may  I  visit  your  patient? 

Doc.  If  t  please  your  lordship  :  but  he's  instantly 
To  take  the  air  here  in  the  gallery 
By  my  direction. 

Pes.  Pray  thee,  what's  his  disease  ? 

Doc.  A  very  pestilent  disease,  my  lord. 
They  call  lycanthropia.  ^ 

Pes.  What's  that? 
I  need  a  dictionary  to't. 

Doc.  I'll  tell  you. 
In  those  that  are  possessed  with't  there  o'erflows 
Such  melancholy  humour  they  imagine 
Themselves  to  be  transformed  into  wolves  ;  10 

Steal  forth  to  churchyards  in  the  dead  of  night, 
And  dig  dead  bodies  up  :  as  two  nights  since 
One  met  the  duke  'bout  midnight  in  a  lane 
Behind  Saint  Mark's  church,  with  the  leg  of  a  man 
Upon  his  shoulder ;  and  he  howled  fearfully ; 
Said  he  was  a  wolf,  only  the  difference 

1  "  A  kind  of  melancholy,  but  strangely  black  and  vehement.  For  those 
attacked  by  it  quit  their  houses  in  the  month  of  February,  imitate  wolves  in 
almost  every  respect,  and  each  night  do  but  frequent  cemeteries  and  grave- 
yards. One  of  these  melancholic  lycanthropes,  whom  we  call  loups  garoux, 
carried  on  his  shoulders  the  whole  thigh  and  leg  of  a  corpse.  There  was 
also,  as  Job  Fincel  relates,  a  villager  near  Pavia  in  1541  who  believed  that 
he  was  a  wolf,  and  assailed  several  men  in  the  fields,  and  killed  some  of 
them.  At  last,  having  been  captured,  but  not  without  great  difficulty,  he 
firmly  asserted  that  he  was  a  wolf,  and  that  there  was  no  other  difference 
except  that  wolves  ordinarily  were  hairy  outside,  whereas  he  was  hairy 
between  his  skin  and  flesh."  —  From  the  French  of  Goulart,  Histoires 
admirables  et  memorables  de  nostre  temps,  1620. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  587 

Was,  a  wolfs  skin  was  hairy  on  the  outside, 

His  on  the  inside ;  bade  them  take  their  swords, 

Rip  up  his  flesh,  and  try  :  straight  I  was  sent  for, 

And,  having  ministered  to  him,  found  his  grace  20 

Very  well  recovered. 

Pes.  I  am  glad  on't. 

Doc.  Yet  not  without  some  fear 
Of  a  relapse.      If  he  grow  to  his  fit  again, 
I'll  go  a  nearer  way  to  work  with  him 
Than  ever  Paracelsus  dreamed  of  ;^  if 
They'll  give  me  leave,  I'll  buffet  his  madness  out  of  him. 
Stand  aside ;  he  comes. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  Cardinal,  Malatesti,  and  Bosola. 

Ferd.  Leave  me. 

Mai.  Why  doth  your  lordship  love  this  solitariness  ? 

Ferd.  Eagles  commonly  fly  alone  :  they  are  crows,  daws, 
and  starlings  that  flock  together.  Look,  what's  that  follows 
me?  31 

Mai.  Nothing,  my  lord. 

Ferd.  Yes. 

Mai.  'Tis  your  shadow. 

Ferd.  Stay  it :  let  it  not  haunt  me. 

Mai.  Impossible,  if  you  move,  and  the  sun  shine. 

Ferd.  I  will  throttle  it. 

\_Throws  himself  down  on  his  shadow. 

Mai.  O,  my  lord,  you  are  angry  with  nothing. 

Ferd.  You  are  a  fool :  how  is't  possible  I  should  catch  my 
shadow,  unless  I  fall  upon't?  When  I  go  to  hell,  I  mean  to 
carry  a  bribe ;  for,  look  you,  good  gifts  evermore  make  way 
for  the  worst  persons.  42 

1  Paracelsus  was  born  in  1493,  died  1541. 


588  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [ACT  V. 

Pes.  Rise,  good  my  lord. 

Ferd.  I  am  studying  the  art  of  patience. 

Pes.  'Tis  a  noble  virtue. 

Ferd.  To  drive  six  snails  before  me  from  this  town  to  Mos- 
cow ;  neither  use  goad  nor  whip  to  them,  but  let  them  take 
their  own  time ;  —  the  patient'st  man  i'  the  world  match  me 
for  an  experiment ;  —  and  I'll  crawl  after  like  a  sheep-biter. 

Card.  Force  him  up.  \They  raise  him.      50 

Ferd.  Use  me  well,  you  were  best.  What  I  have  done, 
I  have  done  :  I'll  confess  nothing.^ 

Doc.  Now  let  me  come  to  him.  —  Are  you  mad,  my  lord  ? 
are  you  out  of  your  princely  wits  ? 

Ferd.  What's  he? 

Pes.  Your  doctor. 

Ferd.  Let  me  have  his  beard  sawed  off,  and  his  eyebrows 
filed  more  civil. 

Doc.  I  must  do  mad  tricks  with  him,  for  that's  the  only 
way  on't.  —  I  have  brought  your  grace  a  salamander's  skin 
to  keep  you  from  sun-burning.  61 

Ferd.  I  have  cruel  sore  eyes. 

Doc.  The  white  of  a  cockatrix's  egg  is  present  remedy. 

Ferd.  Let  it  be  a  new  laid  one,  you  were  best.  — 
Hide  me  from  him  :  physicians  are  like  kings,  — 
They  brook  no  contradiction. 

Doc.  Now  he  begins  to  fear  me  :  now  let  me  alone  with 
him. 

Card.  How  now  !  put  off  your  gown  !  ^ 

1  Cf.  Othello,  V,  last  scene,  where  I  ago  says  : 

"  Demand  me  nothing;  what  you  know,  you  know: 
From  this  time  forth  I  never  will  speak  word." 

2  "  A  piece  of  buffoonery.  The  stage  direction  (edition  of  1708)  is, '  puts 
oflF  his  four  cloaks,  one  after  another.'  The  Gravedigger  in  Hamlet  used  to 
do  the  same  as  late  as  1830."  —  Dyce. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF   MALFI.  589 

Doc.  Now  he  begins  to  fear  me.  —  Can  you  fetch  a  frisk, 
sir  ?  —  Let  him  go,  let  him  go,  upon  my  peril :  I  find  by  his 
eye  he  stands  in  awe  of  me ;  I'll  make  him  as  tame  as  a 
dormoiise.  ^t^ 

Ferd.  Can  you  fetch  your  frisks,  sir  !  —  I  will  stamp  him 
into  a  cullis,  flay  off  his  skin,  to  cover  one  of  the  anatomies^ 
this  rogue  hath  set  i'  the  cold  yonder  in  Barber- Surgeon's- 
hall.  —  Hence,  hence  !  you  are  all  of  you  like  beasts  for 
sacrifice  :  there's  nothing  left  of  you  but  tongue  and  belly. 

\_Exit. 

Pes.  Doctor,  he  did  not  fear  you  throughly. 

Doc.  True ;  I  was  somewhat  too  forward.  80 

Bos.  Mercy  upon  me,  what  a  fatal  judgment 
Hath  fall'n  upon  this  Ferdinand  ! 

Pes.  Knows  your  grace 
What  accident  hath  brought  unto  the  prince 
This  strange  distraction? 

Card,  {aside) .  I  must  feign  somewhat.  —  Thus  they  say 
it  grew. 
You  have  heard  it  rumoured,  for  these  many  years 
None  of  our  family  dies  but  there  is  seen 
The  shape  of  an  old  woman,  which  is  given 
By  tradition  to  us  to  have  been  murdered 
By  her  nephews  for  her  riches.     Such  a  figure  90 

One  night,  as  the  prince  sat  up  late  at's  book, 
Appeared  to  him  ;  when  crying  out  for  help, 
The  gentleman  of  s  chamber  found  his  grace 
All  on  a  cold  sweat,  altered  much  in  face 
And  language  :  since  which  apparition. 
He  hath  grown  worse  and  worse,  and  I  much  fear 
He  cannot  live» 

1  Skeletons. 


590  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [ACT  V. 

Bos.  Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you. 

Pes.  We'll  leave  your  grace, 
Wishing  to  the  sick  prince,  our  noble  lord, 
All  health  of  mind  and  body. 

Card.  You  are  most  welcome.  loo 

{^Exeunt  Pescara,  Malatesti,  and  Doctor. 
Are  you  come  ?  so.  —  {Aside)  This  fellow  must  not  know 
By  any  means  I  had  intelligence 
In  our  duchess'  death ;  for,  though  I  counselled  it. 
The  full  of  all  the  engagement  seemed  to  grow 
From  Ferdinand.  —  Now,  sir,  how  fares  our  sister? 
I  do  not  think  but  sorrow  makes  her  look 
Like  to  an  oft- dyed  garment :  she  shall  now 
Taste  comfort  from  me.     Why  do  you  look  so  wildly? 
O,  the  fortune  of  your  master  here  the  prince 
Dejects  you ;  but  be  you  of  happy  comfort ;  no 

If  you'll  do  one  thing  for  me  I'll  entreat. 
Though  he  had  a  cold  tombstone  o'er  his  bones, 
I'd  make  you  what  you  would  be. 

Bos.  Any  thing ; 
Give  it  me  in  a  breath,  and  let  me  fly  to't : 
They  that  think  long  small  expedition  win, 
For  musing  much  o'  the  end  cannot  begin. 

Enter  Julia. 

Julia.  Sir,  will  you  come  in  to  supper  ? 
Card.  I  am  busy ;  leave  me. 

Julia  {aside).  What  an  excellent  shape  hath  that  fellow  ! 

\^Exit. 
Card.  'Tis  thus.     Antonio  lurks  here  in  Milan  :  i2q 

Inquire  him  out,  and  kill  him.     While  he  lives, 
Our  sister  cannot  marry ;  and  I  have  thought 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  591 

Of  an  excellent  match  for  her.     Do  this,  and  style  me 
Thy  advancement. 

Bos.  But  by  what  means  shall  1  find  him  out  ? 

Card.  There  is  a  gentleman  called  Delio 
Here  in  the  camp,  that  hath  been  long  approved 
His  loyal  friend.     Set  eye  upon  that  fellow ; 
Follow  him  to  mass ;  may  be  Antonio, 
Although  he  do  account  religion  130 

But  a  school-name,  for  fashion  of  the  world 
May  accompany  him ;  or  else  go  inquire  out 
DeHo's  confessor,  and  see  if  you  can  bribe 
Him  to  reveal  it.     There  are  a  thousand  ways 
A  man  might  find  to  trace  him ;  as  to  know 
What  fellows  haunt  the  Jews  for  taking  up 
Great  sums  of  money,  for  sure  he's  in  want ; 
Or  else  to  go  to  the  picture-makers,  and  learn 
Who  bought  her  picture  lately  :  some  of  these 
Happily  may  take. 

Bos.  Well,  I'll  not  freeze  i'  the  business  :  '     140 

I  would  see  that  wretched  thing,  Antonio, 
Above  all  sights  i'  the  world. 

Card.  Do,  and  be  happy.  \_Exit, 

Bos.  This  fellow  doth  breed  basilisks  in's  eyes. 
He's  nothing  else  but  murder ;  yet  he  seems 
Not  to  have  notice  of  the  duchess'  death. 
'Tis  his  cunning  :  I  must  follow  his  example ; 
There  cannot  be  a  surer  way  to  trace 
Than  that  of  an  old  fox. 

Re-enter  Julia. 

Julia.  So,  sir,  you  are  well  met. 
Bos.  How  now ! 


592  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  v. 

Julia.  Nay,  the  doors  are  fast  enough  : 
Now,  sir,  I  will  make  you  confess  your  treachery.  150 

Bos.  Treachery  ! 

Julia.  Yes,  confess  to  me 
Which  of  my  women  'twas  you  hired  to  put 
Love-powder  into  my  drink? 

Bos.  Love-powder  ! 

Julia.  Yes,  when  I  was  at  Malfi. 
Why  should  I  fall  in  love  with  such  a  face  else  ? 
I  have  already  suffered  for  thee  so  much  pain, 
The  only  remedy  to  do  me  good 
Is  to  kill  my  longing. 

Bos.  Sure,  your  pistol  holds 
Nothing  but  perfumes  or  kissing-comfits.^ 
Excellent  lady  !  160 

You  have  a  pretty  way  on't  to  discover 
Your  longing.     Come,  come,  I'll  disarm  you. 
And  arm  you  thus  :  yet  this  is  wondrous  strange. 

Julia.  Compare  thy  form  and  my  eyes  together. 
You'll  find  my  love  no  such  great  miracle. 
Now  you'll  say 

I  am  wanton  :  this  nice  modesty  in  ladies 
Is  but  a  troublesome  famihar 
That  haunts  them. 

Bos.  Know  you  me,  I  am  a  blunt  soldier.  170 

Julia.  The  better : 
Sure,  there  wants  fire  where  there  are  no  lively  sparks 
Of  roughness. 

Bos.  And  I  want  compliment. 

Julia.  Why,  ignorance 
In  courtship  cannot  make  you  do  amiss, 

1  Perfumed  sugar-plums  for  the  breath. 


SCENE  IL]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  593 

If  you  have  a  heart  to  do  well. 

Bos.  You  are  very  fair. 

Julia.  Nay,  if  you  lay  beauty  to  ray  charge, 
I  must  plead  unguilty. 

Bos.  Your  bright  eyes 
Carry  a  quiver  of  darts  in  them  sharper  180 

Than  sunbeams. 

Julia.  You  will  mar  me  with  commendation, 
Put  yourself  to  the  charge  of  courting  me. 
Whereas  now  I  woo  you. 

Bos.  {aside).  I  have  it,  I  will  work  upon  this  creature.  — 
Let  us  grow  most  amorously  familiar : 
If  the  great  cardinal  now  should  see  me  thus, 
Would  he  not  count  me  a  villain  ? 

Julia.  No  ;  he  might  count  me  a  wanton. 
Not  lay  a  scruple  of  offence  on  you  ; 

For  if  I  see  and  steal  a  diamond,  190 

The  fault  is  not  i'  the  stone,  but  in  me  the  thief 
That  purloins  it.     I  am  sudden  with  you  : 
We  that  are  great  women  of  pleasure  use  to  cut  off 
These  uncertain  wishes  and  unquiet  longings, 
And  in  an  instant  join  the  sweet  delight 
And  the  pretty  excuse  together.   Had  you  been  i'  the  street, 
Under  my  chamber-window,  even  there 
I  should  have  courted  you. 

Bos.  O,  you  are  an  excellent  lady  ! 

Julia.  Bid  me  do  somewhat  for  you  presently  200 

To  express  I  love  you. 

Bos.  I  will ;  and  if  you  love  me, 
Fail  not  to  effect  it. 

The  cardinal  is  grown  wondrous  melancholy ; 
Demand  the  cause,  let  him  not  put  you  off 


594  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFl.  [act  v. 

With  feigned  excuse  ;  discover  the  main  ground  on't. 

Julia.  Why  would  you  know  this? 

Bos.  I  have  depended  on  him, 
And  I  hear  that  he  is  fall'n  in  some  disgrace 
With  the  emperor  :  if  he  be,  Uke  the  mice 
That  forsake  falhng  houses,  I  would  shift 
To  other  dependance. 

Julia.  You  shall  not  need  210 

Follow  the  wars  :  I'll  be  your  maintenance. 

Bos.  And  I  your  loyal  servant :  but  I  cannot 
Leave  my  calling. 

Julia.  Not  leave  an  ungrateful 
General  for  the  love  of  a  sweet  lady  ! 
You  are  like  some  cannot  sleep  in  feather-beds. 
But  must  have  blocks  for  their  pillows. 

Bos.  Will  you  do  this? 

Julia,  Cunningly. 

Bos.  To-morrow  I'll  expect  the  intelligence. 

Julia.  To-morrow  !  get  you  into  my  cabinet ; 
You  shall  have  it  with  you.     Do  not  delay  me,  220 

No  more  than  I  do  you  :  I  am  like  one 
That  is  condemned ;  I  have  my  pardon  promised, 
But  I  would  see  it  sealed.     Go,  get  you  in  : 
You  shall  see  me  wind  my  tongue  about  his  heart 
Like  a  skein  of  silk.  \_Exit  Bosola. 

Re-enter  Cardinal. 

Card.  Where  are  you  ? 

Enter  Servants. 
Servants.  Here. 

Card.  Let  none,  upon  your  lives,  have  conference 
With  the  Prince  Ferdinand,  unless  I  know  it.  — 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALPI.  595 

{Aside)   In  this  distraction  he  may  reveal 

The  murder.  \_Exeunt  Servants. 

Yond's  my  lingering  consumption  : 
I  am  weary  of  her,  and  by  any  means  230 

Would  be  quit  of. 

Julia,  How  now,  my  lord  !  what  ails  you? 
Card,  Nothing. 

Julia.  O,  you  are  much  altered  : 
Come,  I  must  be  your  secretary,  and  remove 
This  lead  from  off  your  bosom  :  what's  the  matter? 
Card,  I  may  not  tell  you. 

Julia.  Are  you  so  far  in  love  with  sorrow 
You  cannot  part  with  part  of  it  ?  or  think  you 
I  cannot  love  your  grace  when  you  are  sad 
As  well  as  merry?  or  do  you  suspect 

I,  that  have  been  a  secret  to  your  heart  240 

These  many  winters,  cannot  be  the  same^ 
Unto  your  tongue? 

Card.  Satisfy  thy  longing,  — 
The  only  way  to'  make  thee  keep  my  counsel 
Is,  not  to  tell  thee. 

Julia.  Tell  your  echo  this. 
Or  flatterers,  that  like  echoes  still  report 
What  they  hear  though  most  imperfect,  and  not  me ; 
For  if  that  you  be  true  unto  yourself, 
I'll  know. 

Card.  Will  you  rack" me? 

Julia.  No,  judgment  shall 
Draw  it  from  you  :  it  is  an  equal  fault. 
To  tell  one's  secrets  unto  all  or  none.  250 

Card.  The  first  argues  folly. 

1  Cf.  this  passage  with  /  Henry  IV,  ii,  3. 


596  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  V. 

Julia.  But  the  last  tyranny. 

Card.  Very  well :  why,  imagine  I  have  committed 
Some  secret  deed  which  I  desire  the  world 
May  never  hear  of. 

Julia.  Therefore  may  not  I  know  it? 
You  have  concealed  for  me  as  great  a  sin 
As  adultery.     Sir,  never  was  occasion 
For  perfect  trial  of  my  constancy 
Till  now  :  sir,  I  beseech  you  — 
Card.  You'll  repent  it. 

Julia.  Never. 

Card.  It  hurries  thee  to  ruin  :  I'll  not  tell  thee. 
Be  well  advised,  and  think  what  danger  'tis  260 

To  receive  a  prince's  secrets  :  they  that  do, 
Had  need  have  their  breasts  hooped  with  adamant 
To  contain  them.     I  pray  thee,  yet  be  satisfied ; 
Examine  thine  own  frailty ;  'tis  more  easy 
To  tie  knots  than  unloose  them  :   'tis  a  secret 
That,  like  a  lingering  poison,  may  chance  lie 
Spread  in  thy  veins,  and  kill  thee  seven  year  hence. 

Julia.  Now  you  dally  with  me. 
Card.  No  more  ;  thou  shalt  know  it. 
By  my  appointment  the  great  Duchess  of  Malfi 
And  two  of  her  young  children,  four  nights  since,  270 

Were  strangled. 

Julia.  O  Heaven  !  sir,  what  have  you  done? 
Card.  How  now  ?  how  settles  this  ?  think  you  your  bosom 
Will  be  a  grave  dark  and  obscure  enough 
For  such  a  secret  ? 

Julia.  You  have  undone  yourself,  sir. 
Card.  Why? 

Julia.  It  Hes  not  in  me  to  conceal  it. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  597 

Card.  No? 
Come,  I  will  swear  you  to't  upon  this  book. 
Julia.  Most  religiously. 

Card.  Kiss  it.  \_She  kisses  the  book. 

Now  you  shall  never  utter  it ;  thy  curiosity 
Hath  undone  thee  :  thou'rt  poisoned  with  that  book ; 
Because  I  knew  thou  couldst  not  keep  my  counsel,  280 

I  have  bound  thee  to't  by  death. 

Re-enter  Bosola. 

Bos.  For  pity-sake,  hold  ! 

Card.  Ha,  Bosola  ! 

Julia.  I  forgive  you 
This  equal  piece  of  justice  you  have  done; 
For  I  betrayed  your  counsel  to  that  fellow : 
He  overheard  it ;  that  was  the  cause  I  said 
It  lay  not  in  me  to  conceal  it. 

Bos.  O  foolish  woman, 
Couldst  not  thou  have  poisoned  him? 

Julia.  'Tis  weakness, 
Too  much  to  think  what  should  have  been  done.     I  go, 
I  know  not  whither.  \_Dies. 

Card.  Wherefore  com'st  thou  thither?  290 

Bos.  That  I  might  find  a  great  man  like  yourself, 
Not  out  of  his  wits  as  the  Lord  Ferdinand, 
To  remember  my  service. 

Card.  I'll  have  thee  hewed  in  pieces. 

Bos.  Make  not  yourself  such  a  promise  of  that  life 
Which  is  not  yours  to  dispose  of. 

Card.  Who  placed  thee  here? 

Bos.  Her  lust,  as  she  intended. 

Card.  Very  well : 


598  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [ACT  V. 

Now  you  know  me  for  your  fellow-murderer. 

Bos.  And  wherefore  should  you  lay  fair  marble  colours 
Upon  your  rotten  purposes  to  me  ? 

Unless  you  imitate  some  that  do  plot  great  treasons,  300 

And  when  they  have  done,  go  hide  themselves  i'  the  graves 
Of  those  were  actors  in't  ? 

Card.  No  more  ;  there  is 
A  fortune  attends  thee. 

Bos.  Shall  I  go  sue  to  Fortune  any  longer? 
'Tis  the  fool's  pilgrimage. 

Card.  I  have  honours  in  store  for  thee. 

Bos.  There   are   many   ways   that   conduct   to   seeming 
honour, 
And  some  of  them  very  dirty  ones. 

Card.  Throw  to  the  devil 
Thy  melancholy.     The  fire  burns  well ; 
What  need  we  keep  a  stirring  oft,  and  make 
A  greater  smother?    Thou  wilt  kill  Antonio ?  310 

Bos.  Yes. 

Card.  Take  up  that  body. 

Bos.  I  think  I  shall 
Shortly  grow  the  common  bier  for  churchyards. 

Card.  I  will  allow  thee  some  dozen  of  attendants 
To  aid  thee  in  the  murder. 

Bos.  O,  by  no  means.  Physicians  that  apply  horse- 
leeches to  any  rank  swelling  used  to  cut  off  their  tails,  that 
the  blood  may  run  through  them  the  faster ;  let  me  have 
no  train  when  I  go  to  shed  blood,  lest  it  make  me  have  a 
greater  when  I  ride  to  the  gallows. 

Card.  Come  to  me  after  midnight,  to  help  to  remove    320 
That  body  to  her  own  lodging  :  I'll  give  out 
She  died  o'  the  plague ;  'twill  breed  the  less  inquiry 


SCENE  II.]  THE  DUCHESS    OF   MALFI.  599 

After  her  death. 

Bos.  Where's  Castruccio  her  husband? 

Card.  He's  rode  to  Naples,  to  take  possession 
Of  Antonio's  citadel. 

Bos.  Believe  me,  you  have  done  a  very  happy  turn. 

Card.  Fail  not  to  come  :  there  is  the  master-key 
Of  our  lodgings ;  and  by  that  you  may  conceive 
What  trust  I  plant  in  you. 

Bos.  You  shall  find  me  ready.  \_Exit  Cardinal. 

O  poor  Antonio,  though  nothing  be  so  needful  330 

To  thy  estate  as  pity,  yet  I  find 
Nothing  so  dangerous  ;  I  must  look  to  my  footing  : 
In  such  slippery  ice-pavements  men  had  need 
To  be  frost-nailed  well,  they  may  break  their  necks  else ; 
The  precedent's  here  afore  me.     How  this  man 
Bears  up  in  blood  !  seems  fearless  !     Why,  'tis  well : 
Security  some  men  call  the  suburbs  of  hell. 
Only  a  dead  wall  between.     Well,  good  Antonio, 
I'll  seek  thee  out ;  and  all  my  care  shall  be 
To  put  thee  into  safety  from  the  reach  340 

Of  these  most  cruel  biters  that  have  got 
Some  of  thy  blood  already.     It  may  be, 
I'll  join  with  thee  in  a  most  just  revenge  : 
The  weakest  arm  is  strong  enough  that  strikes 
With  the  sword  of  justice.     Still  methinks  the  duchess 
Haunts  me  :  there,  there  !    'Tis  nothing  but  my  melancholy. 
O  Penitence,  let  me  truly  taste  thy  cup. 
That  throws  men  down  only  to  raise  them  up  !  \_Exit} 

1  The  numbering  of  the  lines  in  this  scene,  and  in  other  parts  of  this 
volume,  is  only  approximately  exact:  for  in  the  Elizabethan  plays  many 
passages  are  printed  as  blank  verse  that  cannot  possibly  be  scanned. 


6oo  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  V. 

Scene  III.  —  A  Fortification  at  Milan. 
Enter  Antonio  and  Delio. 

Delia.  Yond's  the  cardinal's  window.     This  fortification 
Grew  from  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  abbey ; 
And  to  yond  side  o'  the  river  hes  a  wall, 
Piece  of  a  cloister,  which  in  my  opinion 
Gives  the  best  echo  that  you  ever  heard. 
So  hollow  and  so  dismal,  and  withal 
So  plain  in  the  distinction  of  our  words, 
That  many  have  supposed  it  is  a  spirit 
That  answers. 

Ant.  I  do  love  these  ancient  ruins. 
We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set  lo 

Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history : 
And,  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court, 
Which  now  Hes  naked  to  the  injuries 
Of  stormy  weather,  some  men  lie  interred 
Loved  the  church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely  to't, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  their  bones 
Till  doomsday ;  but  all  things  have  their  end  : 
Churches  and  cities,  which  have  diseases  hke  to  men. 
Must  have  like  death  that  we  have. 

Echo.  "  Like  death  that  we  have."  20 

Delio.  Now  the  echo  hath  caught  you. 

Ant.  It  groaned,  methought,  and  gave 
A  very  deadly  accent. 

Echo.  "  Deadly  accent." 

Delio.  I  told  you  'twas  a  pretty  one  :  you  may  make  it 
A  huntsman,  or  a  falconer,  a  musician, 
Or  a  thing  of  sorrow. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  6oi 

Echo.  "  A  thing  of  sorrow." 

Ant.  Ay,  sure,  that  suits  it  best. 

Echo.  "That  suits  it  best." 

Ant.  'Tis  very  Hke  my  wife's  voice. 

Echo.  "  Ay,  wife's  voice." 

Delio.  Come,  let  us  walk  further  from't. 
I  would  not  have  you  go  to  the  cardinal's  to-night : 
Do  not. 

Echo.  "  Do  not."  30 

Delio.  Wisdom  doth  not  more  moderate  wasting  sorrow 
Than  time  :  take  time  for't ;  be  mindful  of  thy  safety. 

Echo.  "  Be  mindful  of  thy  safety." 

A7it.  Necessity  compels  me  : 
Make  scrutiny  throughout  the  passages 
Of  your  own  life,  you'll  find  it  impossible 
To  fly  your  fate. 

Echo.  "  O,  fly  your  fate." 

Delio.  Hark  !  the  dead  stones  seem  to  have  pity  on  you, 
And  give  you  good  counsel. 

Ant.  Echo,  I  will  not  talk  with  thee,  40 

For  thou  art  a  dead  thing. 

Echo.  "  Thou  art  a  dead  thing." 

Ant.  My  duchess  is  asleep  now, 
And  her  little  ones,  I  hope  sweetly  :  O  Heaven, 
Shall  I  never  see  her  more  ? 

Echo.  "  Never  see  her  more." 

Ant.  I  marked  not  one  repetition  of  the  echo 
But  that ;  and  on  the  sudden  a  clear  light 
Presented  me  a  face  folded  in  sorrow. 

Delio.  Your  fancy  merely. 

Ant.  Come,  I'll  be  out  of  this  ague, 
For  to  live  thus  is  not  indeed  to  live ;  50 


602  THE  DUCHESS  OF   MALFI.  [ACT  V. 

It  is  a  mockery  and  abuse  of  life  : 

I  will  not  henceforth  save  myself  by  halves ; 

Lose  all,  or  nothing. 

Delio.  Your  own  virtue  save  you  ! 
I'll  fetch  your  eldest  son,  and  second  you : 
It  may  be  that  the  sight  of  his  own  blood 
Spread  in  so  sweet  a  figure  may  beget 
The  more  compassion.     However,  fare  you  well, 
Though  in  our  miseries  Fortune  have  a  part. 
Yet  in  our  noble  sufferings  she  hath  none  : 
Contempt  of  pain,  that  we  may  call  our  own.     \_Exeuni.     60 


Scene  IV.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Cardinal's  Palace. 

Enter  Cardinal,  Pescara,  Malatesti,  Roderigo,  and 
Grisolan. 

Card.  You  shall  not  watch  to-night  by  the  sick  prince ; 
His  grace  is  very  well  recovered. 

Mai.  Good  my  lord,  suffer  us. 

Card.  O,  by  no  means  ; 
The  noise,  and  change  of  object  in  his  eye. 
Doth  more  distract  him  :  I  pray,  all  to  bed ; 
And  though  you  hear  him  in  his  violent  fit, 
Do  not  rise,  I  entreat  you. 

Pes.  So,  sir ;  we  shall  not. 

Card.  Nay,  I  must  have  you  promise 
Upon  your  honours,  for  I  was  enjoined  to't 
By  himself;  and  he  seemed  to  urge  it  sensibly. 

Pes.  Let  our  honours  bind  this  trifiie. 

Card.  Nor  any  of  your  followers. 

Afal  Neither. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  603 

Card.  It  may  be,  to  make  trial  of  your  promise. 
When  he's  asleep,  myself  will  rise  and  feign 
Some  of  his  mad  tricks,  and  cry  out  for  help, 
And  feign  myself  in  danger. 

Mai.  If  your  throat  were  cutting, 
I'd  not  come  at  you,  now  I  have  protested  against  it. 

Card.  Why,  I  thank  you. 

Gris.  'Twas  a  foul  storm  to-night.  20 

Rod.  The  Lord  Ferdinand's  chamber  shook  like  an  osier. 

Mai.  'Twas  nothing  but  pure  kindness  in  the  devil, 
To  rock  his  own  child.  \_Exeunt  all  except  the  Cardinal. 

Card.  The  reason  why  I  would  not  suffer  these 
About  my  brother,  is,  because  at  midnight 
I  may  with  better  privacy  convey 
Julia's  body  to  her  own  lodging.     O,  my  conscience  ! 
I  would  pray  now ;  but  the  devil  takes  away  my  heart 
For  having  any  confidence  in  prayer. 

About  this  hour  I  appointed  Bosola  30 

To  fetch  the  body :  when  he  hath  served  my  turn, 
He  dies.  {Exit. 

Enter  Bosola. 

Bos.  Ha  !  'twas  the  cardinal's  voice  ;  I  heard  him  name 
Bosola  and  my  death.     Listen  ;  I  hear  one's  footing. 

Enter  Ferdinand. 

Ferd.  Strangling  is  a  very  quiet  death. 

Bos.  {aside).  Nay,  then,  I  see  I  must  stand  upon  my 

guard. 
Ferd.  What   say  you   to   that?  whisper  softly;   do  you 
agree  to't  ?     So ;  it  must  be  done  i'  the  dark  :  the  cardinal 
would  not  for  a  thousand  pounds  the  doctor  should  see  it. 

\_Exit 


602  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [ACT  V. 

It  is  a  mockery  and  abuse  of  life  : 

I  will  not  henceforth  save  myself  by  halves ; 

Lose  all,  or  nothing. 

Delio.  Your  own  virtue  save  you  ! 
I'll  fetch  your  eldest  son,  and  second  you  : 
It  may  be  that  the  sight  of  his  own  blood 
Spread  in  so  sweet  a  figure  may  beget 
The  more  compassion.     However,  fare  you  well, 
Though  in  our  miseries  Fortune  have  a  part, 
Yet  in  our  noble  sufferings  she  hath  none  : 
Contempt  of  pain,  that  we  may  call  our  own.     \_Exeunt.     60 


Scene  IV.  —  An  Apartment  in  the  Cardinal's  Palace. 

Enter  Cardinal,  Pescara,  Malatesti,  Roderigo,  and 
Grisolan. 

Card.  You  shall  not  watch  to-night  by  the  sick  prince ; 
His  grace  is  very  well  recovered. 

Mai.  Good  my  lord,  suffer  us. 

Card.  O,  by  no  means  ; 
The  noise,  and  change  of  object  in  his  eye. 
Doth  more  distract  him  :  I  pray,  all  to  bed ; 
And  though  you  hear  him  in  his  violent  fit, 
Do  not  rise,  I  entreat  you. 

Pes.  So,  sir ;  we  shall  not. 

Card.  Nay,  I  must  have  you  promise 
Upon  your  honours,  for  I  was  enjoined  to't 
By  himself;  and  he  seemed  to  urge  it  sensibly. 

Pes.  Let  our  honours  bind  this  triflie. 

Card.  Nor  any  of  your  followers, 

Mai.  Neither. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  603 

Card.  It  may  be,  to  make  trial  of  your  promise, 
When  he's  asleep,  myself  will  rise  and  feign 
Some  of  his  mad  tricks,  and  cry  out  for  help. 
And  feign  myself  in  danger. 

Mai.  If  your  throat  were  cutting, 
I'd  not  come  at  you,  now  I  have  protested  against  it. 

Card.  Why,  I  thank  you. 

Gris.  'Twas  a  foul  storm  to-night.  20 

Rod.  The  Lord  Ferdinand's  chamber  shook  like  an  osier. 

Mai.  'Twas  nothing  but  pure  kindness  in  the  devil. 
To  rock  his  own  child.  {^Exeunt  all  except  the  Cardinal. 

Card.  The  reason  why  I  would  not  suffer  these 
About  my  brother,  is,  because  at  midnight 
I  may  with  better  privacy  convey 
Julia's  body  to  her  own  lodging.     O,  my  conscience  ! 
I  would  pray  now ;  but  the  devil  takes  away  my  heart 
For  having  any  confidence  in  prayer. 

About  this  hour  I  appointed  Bosola  30 

To  fetch  the  body :  when  he  hath  served  my  turn. 
He  dies.  \Exit. 

Enter  Bosola. 

Bos.  Ha  !  'twas  the  cardinal's  voice  ;  I  heard  him  name 
Bosola  and  my  death.     Listen  ;  I  hear  one's  footing. 

Enter  Ferdinand. 

Ferd.  Strangling  is  a  very  quiet  death. 

Bos.  {aside).  Nay,  then,  I  see  I  must  stand  upon  my 

guard. 
Ferd.  What   say  you   to   that?  whisper  softly;   do  you 
agree  to't  ?     So ;  it  must  be  done  i'  the  dark :  the  cardinal 
would  not  for  a  thousand  pounds  the  doctor  should  see  it. 

lExif. 


6o4  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [ACT  V. 

Bos,  My  death  is   plotted;    here's   the  consequence   of 
murder.  40 

We  value  not  desert  nor  Christian  breath, 
When  we  know  black  deeds  must  be  cured  with  death. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Servant. 

Serv.  Here  stay,  sir,  and  be  confident,  I  pray  : 
I'll  fetch  you  a  dark  lantern.  \_Exit. 

Ant.  Could  I  take  him  at  his  prayers,^ 
There  were  hope  of  pardon. 

Bos.  Fall  right,  my  sword  ! —  \_Stabs  him. 

I'll  not  give  thee  so  much  leisure  as  to  pray. 

Ant.  O,  I  am  gone  !     Thou  hast  ended  a  long  suit 
In  a  minute. 

Bos.  What  art  thou  ? 

Ant.  A  most  wretched  thing, 
That  only  have  thy  benefit  in  death, 
To  appear  myself. 

Re-enter  Servant  with  a  lantern, 

Serv.  Where  are  you,  sir?  50 

Ant,  Very  near  my  home.  —  Bosola  ! 

Serv.  O,  misfortune  ! 

Bos.  Smother  thy  pity,  thou  art  dead  else.  —  Antonio  ! 
The  man  I  would  have  saved  'bove  mine  own  life  ! 
We  are  merely  the  stars'  tennis-balls,  struck  and  bandied 
Which  way  please  them.  —  O  good  Antonio, 
I'll  whisper  one  thing  in  thy  dying  ear 
Shall  make  thy  heart  break  quickly  !  thy  fair  duchess 
And  two  sweet  children  — 

Ant.  Their  very  names 
Kindle  a  Uttle  life  in  me. 

1  Cf.  Hamlet,  iii,  3. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  60^ 

Bos.  Are  murdered. 

Ant.  Some  men  have  wished  to  die  60 

At  the  hearing  of  sad  things  ;  I  am  glad 
That  I  shall  do't  in  sadness^ :  I  would  not  now 
■Wish  my  wounds  balmed  nor  healed,  for  I  have  no  use 
To  put  my  life  to.     In  all  our  quest  of  greatness, 
Like  wanton  boys,  whose  pastime  is  their  care, 
We  follow  after  bubbles  blown  in  the  air. 
Pleasure  of  Hfe,  what  is't  ?  only  the  good  hours 
Of  an  ague  ;  merely  a  preparative  to  rest, 
To  endure  vexation.     I  do  not  ask 

The  process  of  my  death  ;  only  commend  me  70 

To  Delio. 

Bos.  Break,  heart ! 

Ant.  And  let  my  son  fly  the  courts  of  princes.  \_Dies. 

Bos.  Thou  seem'st  to  have  loved  Antonio? 

Serv.  I  brought  him  hither. 
To  have  reconciled  him  to  the  cardinal. 

Bos,  I  do  not  ask  thee  that. 
Take  him  up,  if  thou  tender  thine  own  life. 
And  bear  him  where  the  lady  Julia 
Was  wont  to  lodge.  —  O,  my  fate  moves  swift ; 
I  have  this  cardinal  in  the  forge  already  ', 
Now  I'll  bring  him  to  the  hammer.     O  direful  misprision^ ! 
I  will  not  imitate  things  glorious,  81 

No  more  than  base  ;  I'll  be  mine  own  example.  — 
On,  on,  and  look  thou  represent,  for  silence. 
The  thing  thou  bear'st.  \Exeunt 

1  Seriousness.  2  Neglect,  oversight ;  hence,  mistake. 


6o6  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  [act  V. 

Scene  V.  —  Another  Apartment  in  the  Same. 

Enter  Cardinal,  with  a  book. 

Card.  I  am  puzzled  in  a  question  about  hell : 
He  says,  in  hell  there's  one  material  fire. 
And  yet  it  shall  not  burn  all  men  alike. 
Lay  him  by.     How  tedious  is  a  guilty  conscience  ! 
When  I  look  into  the  fish-ponds  in  my  garden, 
Methinks  I  see  a  thing  armed  with  a  rake, 
That  seems  to  strike  at  me. 

Enter  Bosol.\,  and  Servant  bearing  Antonio's  body. 

Now,  art  thou  come? 
Thou  look'st  ghastly ; 

There  sits  in  thy  face  some  great  determination 
Mixed  with  some  fear. 

Bos.  Thus  it  lightens  into  action  :  lo 

I  am  come  to  kill  thee. 

Card.  Ha  !  —  Help  !  our  guard  ! 

Bos.  Thou  art  deceived  ; 
They  are  out  of  thy  howling. 

Card.  Hold ;  and  I  will  faithfully  divide 
Revenues  with  thee. 

Bos.  Thy  prayers  and  proffers 
Are  both  unreasonable. 

Card.  Raise  the  watch  !  we  are  betrayed  ! 

Bos.  I  have  confined  your  flight : 
I'll  suffer  your  retreat  to  JuUa's  chamber, 
But  no  further. 

Card.  Help  !  we  are  betrayed  ! 


SCENE  v.]  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  607 

Enter,  above}  Pescara,  Malatesti,  Roderigo,  and 
Grisolan. 

Mai.  Listen, 

Card.  My  dukedom  for  rescue  ! 

Rod.  Fie  upon  his  counterfeiting  !  20 

Mai.  Why,  'tis  not  the  cardinal. 

Rod.  Yes,  yes,  'tis  he ; 
But  ril  see  him  hanged  ere  I'll  go  down  to  him. 

Card.  Here's  a  plot  upon  me  ;  I  am  assaulted  !  I  am  lost, 
Unless  some  rescue. 

Gris.  He  doth  this  pretty  well ; 
But  it  will  not  serve  to  laugh  me  out  of  mine  honour. 

Card.  The  sword's  at  my  throat ! 

Rod.  You  would  not  bawl  so  loud  then. 

Mai.  Come,  come,  let's  go 
To  bed  :  he  told  us  thus  much  aforehand. 

Pes.    He   wished   you   should   not   come   at    him ;    but, 
believe 't, 
The  accent  of  the  voice  sounds  not  in  jest :  30 

I'll  down  to  him,  howsoever,  and  with  engines 
Force  ope  the  doors.  {^Exit  above. 

Rod.  Let's  follow  him  aloof, 
And  note  how  the  cardinal  will  laugh  at  him. 

\_Exeunt,  above,  Malatesti,  Roderigo,  and  Grisolan. 

Bos.  There's  for  you  first, 
'Cause  you  shall  not  unbarricade  the  door 
To  let  in  rescue.  \^Kills  the  Servant. 

Cai'd.  What  cause  hast  thou  to  pursue  my  life  ? 

Bos.  Look  there. 

Card.  Antonio  ! 

Bos.  Slain  by  my  hand  unwittingly. 

1  The  raised  platform  towards  the  back  of  the  stage. 


6o8  THE  DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  [act  v. 

Pray,  and  be  sudden :  when  thou  killed' st  thy  sister, 
Thou  took'st  from  Justice  her  most  equal  balance. 
And  left  her  naught  but  her  sword. 

Card.  O,  mercy  !  40 

Bos.  Now  it  seems  thy  greatness  was  only  outward ; 
For  thou  fall'st  faster  of  thyself  than  calamity 
Can  drive  thee.     I'll  not  waste  longer  time  ;  there  ! 

[Stabs  him. 

Card.  Thou  hast  hurt  me. 

Bos.  Again  !  \_Stabs  him  again. 

Card.  Shall  I  die  like  a  leveret, 
Without  any  resistance  ?  —  Help,  help,  help  ! 
I'  am  slain  1  -        • 

Enter  Ferdinand. 

Ferd.  The  alarum  !  give  me  a  fresh  horse ; 
Rally  the  vaunt-guard,  or  the  day  is  lost. 
Yield,  yield  !  I  give  you  the  honour  of  arms, 
Shake  my  sword  over  you  ;  will  you  yield  ? 

Card.  Help  me  ;  I  am  your  brother  ! 

Ferd.  The  devil ! 
My  brother  fight  upon  the  adverse  party  !  50 

\^He  wounds  the  Cardinal,  and,  in  the  scuffle,  gives    ^ 
BOSOLA  his  death-wound. 
There  flies  your  ransom. 

Card.  O  justice  ! 
I  suffer  now  for  what  hath  former  bin  : 
Sorrow  is  held  the  eldest  child  of  sin.^ 

Ferd.   Now  you're   brave   fellows.     Caesar's   fortune  was 
harder  than  Pompey's;   Caesar  died  in' the  arms  of  pros- 

1  Cf.  Webster's  White  Devil,  p.  44  (Dyce's  edit.)  : 

"  'Twere  fit  you'd  think  on  what  hath  former  bin; 
I  heard  grief  nam'd  the  eldest  child  of  sin." 


SCENE  v.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  609 

perity,  Pompey  at  the  feet  of  disgrace.  You  both  died  in 
the  field.  The  pain's  nothing :  pain  many  times  is  taken 
away  with  the  apprehension  of  greater,  as  the  toothache  with 
the  sight  of  the  barber  that  comes  to  pull  it  out-:  there's 
philosophy  for  you.  60 

Bos,    Now   my   revenge   is   perfect.  —  Sink,    thou   main 
cause  \_Kins  Ferdinand. 

Of  my  undoing  !  —  The  last  part  of  my  life 
Hath  done  me  best  service., 

Ferd.  Give  me  some  wet  hay ;  I  am  broken-winded. 
I  do  account  this  world  but  a  dog  kennel : 
I  will  vault  credit  and  affect  high  pleasures 
Beyond  death. 

Bos.  He  seems  to  come  to  himself, 
Now  he's  so  near  the  bottom. 

Ferd.  My  sister,  O  my  sister  !  there's  the  cause  on't. 
Whether  we  fall  by  ambition,  blood,  or  lust,  70 

Like  diamonds  we  are  cut  with  our  own  dust.  \_Dies. 

Card.  Thou  hast  thy  payment  too. 

Bos.  Yes,  I  hold  my  weary  soul  in  my  teeth ; 
'Tis  ready  to  part  from  me.     I  do  glory 
That  thou,  which  stood'st  like  a  huge  pyramid 
Begun  upon  a  large  and  ample  base, 
Shalt  end  in  a  Httle  point,  a  kind  of  nothing. 

Fnter  below,  Pescara,  Malatesti,  Roderigo,  and  Grisolan. 

Fes.  How  now,  my  lord  I 

Mai.  O  sad  disaster  1 

Rod.  How  comes  this? 

Bos.  Revenge  for  the  Duchess  of  Malfi  murdered 
By  the  Arragonian  brethren ;  for  Antonio  80 

Slain  by  this  hand  ;  for  lustful  Julia 


6lO  THE   DUCHESS   OF  MALFI.  [act  V. 

Poisoned  by  this  man ;  and  lastly  for  myself, 

That  was  an  actor  in  the  main  of  all 

Much  'gainst  mine  own  good  nature,  yet  i'  the  end 

Neglected. 

Pes.  How  now,  my  lord  ! 
Card.  Look  to  my  brother  : 
He  gave  us  these  large  wounds,  as  we  were  struggling 
Here  i'  the  rushes.^     And  now,  I  pray,  let  me 
Be  laid  by  and  never  thought  of.  \_Dics. 

Pes.  How  fatally,  it  seems,  he  did  withstand 
His  own  rescue  ! 

Mai.  Thou  wretched  thing  of  blood  ^  90 

How  came  Antonio  by  his  death  ? 

Bos.  In  a  mist ;  I  know  not  how  : 
Such  a  mistake  as  I  have  often  seen 
In  a  play.     O,  I  am  gone  ! 
We  are  only  like  dead  walls  or  vaulted  graves, 
That,  ruined,  yield  no  echo.     Fare  you  well. 
It  may  be  pain,  but  no  harm,  to  me  to  die 
In  so  good  a  quarrel.     O,  this  gloomy  world  ! 
In  what  a  shadow,  or  deep  pit  of  darkness. 
Doth  womanish  and  fearful  mankind  live  !  100 

Let  worthy  minds  ne'er  stagger  in  distrust 
To  suffer  death  or  shame  for  what  is  just : 
Mine  is  another  voyage.  \_Dies. 

Pes.  The  noble  Delio,  as  I  came  to  the  palace, 
Told  me  of  Antonio's  being  here,  and  showed  me 
A  pretty  gentleman,  his  son  and  heir. 

Enter  Delio  and  Antonio's  Son. 

Mai.  O  sir,  you  come  too  late  ! 

1  Floors  were  commonly  strewn  with  rushes. 

2  Cf.  Coriolanus,  ii,  2 :  "  He  was  a  thing  of  blood." 


SCENE  v.]  THE   DUCHESS   OF   MALFI.  6ll 

Delio.  I  heard  so,  and 
Was  armed  for't,  ere  I  came.     Let  us  make  noble  use 
Of  this  great  ruin ;  and  join  all  our  force 
To  estabUsh  this  young  hopeful  gentleman  no 

In's  mother's  right.     These  wretched  eminent  things 
Leave  no  more  fame  behind  'em,  than  should  one 
Fall  in  a  frost,  and  leave  his  print,  in  snow ; 
As  soon  as  the  si!n  shines,  it  ever  melts, 
Both  form  and  matter.     I  have  ever  thought 
Nature  doth  nothing  so  great  for  great  men 
As  when  she's  pleased  to  make  them  lords  of  truth  : 
Integrity  of  Hfe  is  fame's  best  friend. 
Which  nobly,  beyond  death,  shall  crown  the  end. 

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